Ghosties
by The Dangerous One
Summary: The world is having a Halloween party, but who will tell the ghost stories? Reviewers control who tells their story next, I will only update if people tell me which country's story to write. Yes, I know that it's not exactly Halloween now, but who cares?
1. Chapter 1

**(A.N. Ok, so I got this idea when I was looking up ghost stories and legends for fun the other day. You get to decide who goes first with their stories. I'll say more about this at the bottom AN.)**  
>Disclaimer: All characters portrayed within this fan fiction are not mine. Just sayin'…<p>

It was almost Halloween, and as usual, the world was going to have a party. It didn't matter whether America's hat supported gay marriage, or that China was overworking his people. Everybody liked a good party. Roles were assigned to the various countries: France would cook, Switzerland would organize everything, Italy would prepare decorations, and so on. However, there was one role that everybody wanted: who told the ghost stories. Each country had its own tales of the supernatural, and nearly all of them thought that theirs was the best. Within seconds, France and England were strangling each other, Prussia was insisting that his ghosts were "the awesomest", and Russia and Belarus were creeping everybody out. It was Germany who proposed a solution that everyone liked. Everybody would gather their best ghost stories, they would take turns at the party telling them, and then judging by everyone's reactions, Switzerland (who didn't take sides in fights) would decide whose stories were the scariest. Then next year, that person would tell the ghost stories. It was the only thing France and England ever agreed on.

**(A.N. So, really short chapter, but it is just a prologue. The choices for who goes first are England, Scotland, Ireland, or Wales. The first person who reviews with a choice gets their choice in the next chapter and that chapter will be dedicated to them. Everyone will get a chance telling stories, so don't worry if the character you picked doesn't come up right away. They will. If you want a particular character to be included, let me know about that, and I will put them into my list of countries to vote on. As soon as someone reviews, I will start writing the next chapter! See ya then)**


	2. Wales

**(A.N. Thanks, everyone, who reviewed! This chapter is dedicated to MeiMeiAru8 and will feature Wales (Gwydion Kirkland). I've always imagined the UK being siblings, so they will all have the same last name. Remember to keep reviewing so I'll keep writing! There will be a new set of countries at the bottom AN to vote on, and remember, the first one who reviews with a new country gets the next chapter dedicated to them and the country they pick will be in their chapter!)**  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply<p>

October 31st. Halloween. Traditionally known as the one day where the barriers of the human world and the spirit world are thin and all sorts of magical beings travel to the human world to pick on the living. It was a time of mischief, for both the humans and countries. This Halloween was no exception. The party was held at America's house, since his was the biggest one where the weather wasn't atrociously cold. (*cough*Russia*cough*) The Italy brothers had done their work (decorating) well. America's house in Virginia was decked out in all sorts of seasonal awesome. Of course, the basement of Alfred's house was the "haunted" part where they would tell their stories was decorated as well. Feliciano and Lovino had strewn dead leaves on the stairway going down, so that the sound of rustling leaves would be the first unsettling thing they experienced. The second was some damp seaweed that they had strung up at the bottom of the stairs. When the unsuspecting countries came downstairs, they would be creeped out by the sound of leaves where no leaves should normally be, and feel cold, wet "fingers" reaching from the ceiling. This was going to be good...

Before the party, the world had decided that since Halloween started in the UK, one of them would start off. So, the Kirkland siblings were arguing about who would tell their stories first. Ireland wanted to go first, because Halloween originated in Ireland. England wanted to go first because London was the most haunted capital city in the world. Scotland wanted to go first because with all the bloodshed in his past, there was no wonder why his house was haunted. And Wales wanted to go first because his ghost stories were the creepiest (in his opinion). After a shouting match and a whispered conversation, Ireland agreed that Wales was pretty creepy, and nobody really wanted to invoke some weird Gaelic curse against them, so it was decided. Wales would go first. As the sun fell in the sky, Alfred started to get more and more jumpy, Ivan's smile got wider and wider, and Gwydion was getting more and more excited. He was going to totally freak out the others, and he would be telling the ghost stories next year.

When it was around 8:00, the sun had almost set and there was a bloody color in the sky, everyone started to head in the direction of the stairs heading down to the basement. Alfred jumped ahead, saying "The hero will go first to protect the others!" Identical mischievous grins erupted onto the Italy brothers faces as the "hero" let out a girly scream when he got to the bottom and came racing back up again. "AAAAHHH! There's some kind of finger-y slimy icky thingy down there!" Alfred's face was white as a sheet. Feliciano and Lovino's faces were the shade of a freshly picked tomato from suppressed laughter. As Alfred babbled on about creepiness and why the hell hadn't he noticed his basement was haunted before Lovino couldn't help it anymore. He burst out laughing and soon both he and his brother were rolling on the floor. "You should've seen your face! You looked like a ghost yourself!" they managed to choke out in between laughter. After they calmed Alfred down from wanting to punch the Italy brothers, Feliciano explained about the wet seaweed, which brought a smile to many a country's face. "Well, shall we brave the unknown, Alfred?" Arthur teased. With a grin, Alfred pushed Arthur down first. When he didn't come back up like Alfred did, the other nations headed downstairs. Once Alfred had calmed down a bit, they started to tell the ghost stories.

"Well, in 1100 the Princess Nest of Carew Castle was married to Gerald of Windsor, who was one of the bigwigs of Wales at the time. She was faithful to her husband and bore him five children, but that's not the point. In 1109, Gerald won a few great battles and to celebrate, he had a giant party at Carew Castle. Now, at that party, there was Nest's cousin, Owain. During the course of the feast, Owain became infatuated with Nest, and vicey versey. By the end of the night, Owain decided to get Nest for himself. Late one night, Owain entered the castle with a few friends, planning to take Nest away with them. To cause a diversion, the troublemakers set fire to another part of the castle, and sent off toward the sleeping chambers. Gerald and Nest had woken up after hearing the commotion downstairs, and they thought it was an attempt to kill Gerald, for he was very powerful. Nest helped her husband and children escape. When Owain came into the bedroom, Nest was alone. They took her away.  
>Well, my people were scandalized by this. Rumors abounded that the Princess had been kidnapped and raped by her horrible cousin and the country was thrown into turmoil. However, Nest was a willing prisoner. She was not raped by her cousin, but she did give him two children in the two years the young lovers were together. Of course, Gerald wasn't happy about this turn of events, and he had to get his honor back. In the next year and a half, Owain's father was killed, along with many of his clansmen. Nest was returned to her husband and family, and resumed her life at Carew Castle as if nothing had happened. Gerald never let it pass, and he felt deep regret for fleeing the castle to save his own life. He felt like everyone was making fun of him. He bided his time until he could get his revenge on Owain. There was an uprising in 1116 in the South that brought both Gerald and Owain together as unwilling allies. When Owain went out riding alone one day, Gerald summoned a group of his men and left the camp after him. Owain was off-guard and unsuspecting when he was stopped by a guard on the beach. He was shot dead with an arrow. Gerald had his revenge.<br>Nest outlived her husband, but her true love was always Owain. Locals believe that she still looks out of a window in the castle, looking for her young lover. She isn't alone, however. Other ghosts plague the castle. Heavy, thudding footsteps can be heard at night, people see the face of Satan in the window, and unearthly cries and a shrill whistle fill the castle at night. A few years ago, I visited the castle and saw the image of Satan in a fireplace, lips pulled back in a snarl.  
>In the early 1600's, the castle was owned by a former pirate named Sir Roland Reece. He was known to be short-tempered having zealous religious views, and foul language. He nearly exploded with rage when his son Ewan fell in love with the daughter of his tennant. Ewan told his father that he would never give up his love for the girl, and in his fury Sir Roland told Ewan that he never wanted to see his son's face again. Ewan left Carew Castle that night, and honestly, I don't blame him. Sir Roland fell into deep depression. At times, he would call out for his beloved son; at other times, he would curse Ewain to Hell. Sir Roland often arranged banquets for old captains and officers. There was always a disturbing presence at the dinner table, however: Satan. Satan was the name of Sir Roland's pet baboon, brought back from a sea voyage. The monkey became his closest companion. At the banquets, Sir Roland mocked his guests, the only reason for them being there, while his monkey mimicked its master. Soon, nobody would come to the castle, knowing that they would become the night's entertainment.<br>On a bitterly cold night in March, Sir Roland's tennant came to the castle to pay his rent. He knew Sir Roland's feelings towards him, and because trade was bad that winter he only had half the money, but he reasoned that half was better than none, as he went to Carew. When he was admitted to the dining hall, where Sir Roland was, the tenant explained his situation. Sir Roland was seething. The tenant turned down Sir Roland's offer of wine, saying that he didn't drink and Sir Roland cursed the tenant and his daughter for bewitching his son. Not wanting to hear his daughter abused, the tenant raised his hand to strike, and that was it. This was the final straw for the insane Sir Roland, who ordered his monkey to tear out the terrified tenant's eyes. He blew on a silver whistle and the monkey attacked! The tenant fought the creature, wounded it, threw it to the floor, and ran. He wanted to leave straightaway, but the weather was horrible, and a kind servant offered to let the tenant sleep in the service area for the night. After a warm meal, their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Sir Roland's whistle, followed by a long, drawn-out scream of pain and terror mixed with the demonic sound of the baboon laughing and then screeching. The horrible sound was coming from the dining hall! Reluctantly, the tenant and Sir Roland's servant went to see what had happened. What they would see there would haunt them for the rest of their days. Sir Roland Ryce lay dead on the floor, next to the corpse of his monkey, whose head was in the fire. Sir Roland's throat had been gouged out by his faithful companion. Had the monkey gone mad from pain and by Sir Roland's whistle and turned on its master? Or had Sir Roland attempted a kind of suicide? We will never know.  
>Ever since that day, stomping footsteps can be heard in the castle (the ghostly pacing of Sir Roland, waiting for his son to come back?) and the monkey's head can be seen in the dining room fireplace. Whatever the circumstances of their death, the ghosts of Carew will definitely make you look twice. America definately did.<p>

**(A.N. If you were wondering about what Alfred's house looks like, here is the link to what I had in mind. Just take out the spaces and stuff**. http:/ img (dot) ehowcdn (dot) com/ article-new/ ehow/ images/ a05/ ot/ p7/ victorian-house-painting-ideas-1.1-800x800 (dot) jpg  
><strong>The next set of countries will be Canada (America's Hat), America (Canada's Pants), or Mexico (who seems to be bottoming both). As usual, the first one who reviews gets their pick in the next chapter! If you think this story is the scariest, let me know, but wait for other stories to come up before voting!)<strong>


	3. Mexico

**(A.N. Thanks for reviewing go quickly! I actually got a review on the same day I put up a chapter! ^-^ *starts getting a Prussia complex* I'm so awesome... *mentally slaps self* This chapter is dedicated to islapmofos who requested Mexico. All the ghost stories are/will be actual stories. You can look them up on the internet. If you're interested, there is a series of videos about the castle ghosts of Britain that is really detailed (that's where I got the Wales story) on YouTube under the username Mortitia711. Because the videos are only for the UK and certain cities in America, the rest of the world's stories won't be as detailed. Don't worry! They'll still be good! That person also has a series about the ghosts of America that I might use for a this-story-style story about personified states and eventually provinces... Well anyway, enjoy!)**  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply<p>

"That was really freaky, Wales. You've got some whacked out people," Ireland told him. "He's not the only one!" America yelled. Mexico smiled. "Si. I, too, have scary stories. Do you want to hear them?" She took the way Russia's face lit up as a 'yes'.

"You've all heard of Tijuana, right? With the tourists? If you eventually go there, the people you meet could be more than fellow tourists and locals. That possibility is significantly higher if you visit The Coliseum Theatre. Sure, children you meet there came for the show-but in 1951. There was a Christmas party being held there for children living in poverty so that they could receive gifts as well. At around 22:00, the projectionist noticed smoke coming out of a multi-purpose room next to the theatre room. He hurried to get people out, but unfortunately the children and a few adults couldn't make it. The building's four emergency exits were closed and there was only one exit available. 100 people died that night. There were not enough ambulances to deal with the injured, so taxi drivers helped out.  
>When you go in El Coliseo (The Coliseum) today, there is a pressure on your chest that makes it hard to remain calm. You can still see damage from the fire inside the building, and if you're lucky (or unlucky, whichever way you want to see it) you might catch a glimpse of children running towards the exit only to disappear, or you might hear screams inside the multi-purpose room where the fire started.<br>Further south in Nayarit, there are more paranormal experiences. A young girl attending a wedding with her family had one such experience in her Grandmother's house. The girl was sitting in her room reading, when her little sister came running in with fear in her eyes. Her sister said that she had heard footsteps on the stairs, but when she went to check, nobody was there. The girl put down her book and went with her sister to the stairs. As they approached the staircase, the girl heard them too: the distinct sound of footsteps on the stairs. The sisters ran away, towards the back stairs. When they were on the ground level, they started to calm down until they heard the footsteps again-coming down the back stairs! Shrieking, the pair ran to the front gate outside, the footsteps still following. As the girl passed through the front doorway, she felt something try to grab at her hand. When the sisters got to the front gate, they found that it was locked from the outside. The footsteps came closer. The girls didn't have a key. Still, they came closer. The girl tried rattling the bars to get the attention of any passers-by. She heard a little squeak and saw her sister fly backwards to land on her back a few feet away. The girl screamed one last time before she became unconscious. That was where her family found her the next morning when they came back from the wedding. She was not dead, only unconscious; and this is how we know of this happening. The younger sister was not as lucky. When she flew back, the way she landed had snapped her spinal cord and she died that night. So, what do you think of that?"

**(A.N. So, what do you think? Was it good? Not good? Boring? Let me know! The next three to choose from are Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine. As soon as you review, I'll start writing!)**


	4. Russia

**(A.N. Two words. Holy. Shit. I posted the last chapter around 8:20 AM. It's now 10:07 and I have a reviewer already. Holy. Shit. *Prussia complex grows* So, for BitchyActress, here's the chapter about Russia! I'm going to attempt the accent, so sorry if I butcher it...)**

"That was good story. But Russia has better ghosts, da? I will tell you." By this point, the countries had sat down on the floor in a circle around Alfred's mobile fireplace (like the thing with the fire at Panera Bread. I don't know what it's called). "There is a very old story in my country about the rusalka. Rusalka was young woman who tragically drowned in river, da? Nobody found her body or noticed her disappearance for several weeks, and that made Rusalka very angry. When a search party finally went looking, Rusalka smashed their boat on rocks by accident as she was trying to lead them to her body. The three men who were searching died as well. Rusalka had been a sadistic woman in life, and that quality had been amplified in death. Rusalka was now a river spirit, and she liked the feeling of men drowning in her river. From that day onward, if anyone went too close to its banks, Rusalka would drag them down to the bottom of her river and force them to join her in courtship dances. After a while, nobody would dare to go near the river, and for the first time, Rusalka left its watery confines. There was a man who had come from out-of-town. He did not believe the local viliagers' stories, and decided to go swimming. When he got to the water's edge, the man saw a beautiful woman sitting on a rock on the riverbank. He went up to her to ask what was wrong. As he got closer, the man could see that the woman was wearing a blue and white dress with a blue bow in her blond hair. When he got close enough to see her face, Rusalka grabbed the man around the legs and dragged him down to her watery home. To this day, you can see the spirit of Rusalka stalking riverbanks all over Russia, trying to lure other travelers to their deaths."

At this, Ivan looked pointedly at his sister, who looked innocently back up at him. "What do you mean by that, brother dear? Why did you start with that story? Isn't your capital haunted, too?" she demanded. Belarus had a look in her eye that made her beloved brother shrink back in fear. "U-um, sister? You're cutting off circulation on my arm. Please stop. Please?" Reluctantly, Natalya let go of her brother's arm. "Do not worry, dear brother. We can always become one later..." Ivan shuddered. "It is as she said. There are hauntings in Moscow. The spirit of Ivan the Terrible walks around the tower named for Ivan the Great. Czar Dimitry Pretender appears on the wall of the Kremlin. The last time he was seen was in August of 1991, where he was reported to being rather noisy and was gesturing wildly. His message was understood the next morning, when a coup occurred and the plotters read out their message via radio. At one point, there had been a cemetery under where the Kremlin stands today, and you can see the agitated spirits wandering around the Congress building. Well, now that I have scared you sufficiently, I will be able to win this silly contest and you all will become one with Russia, da?" A very awkward silence followed that last remark, which remained unbroken until Switzerland said "Let's let everybody tell their stories before we decide the winner, ok?"

**(A.N. Wow, two chapters in the same day! I don't normally update this quickly. The next countries to choose between are England, America, or Canada. As soon as you review, I will start writing the next chapter!)**


	5. America

**(A.N. Thanks to AdysonSweetwater for reviewing and requesting America! Maybe he isn't such a wuss after all... Let's find out! Sorry if America seems a little OOC, but in my headcannon he's just afraid of ghosts, not paranormal stuff in general. But anyway, on to the chapter! Btw, after the first paragraph, America's telling the story. I'm just too lazy to put in one quote at the beginning of the story and another at the end.)**

"Well, that was a good story, Russia, but I think I have a better one!" The sudden outburst was loud, annoying, and surprisingly coming from America. Maybe this was why he was so terrified of ghosts. "Go ahead, America. Give us your worst! I bet they're totally un-awesome!" "Shut up, Prussia!"  
>Ok, guys! There was this guy called John Bell who moved to Robertson County in Tennessee in 1817 with his family. One day, as he was working in his fields, John saw this weird-looking thing that looked like it had the head of a rabbit and the body of a dog. And it was just sitting there, looking at him. And it wouldn't stop! So, John shot at it, but missed ("Trigger-happy git," England muttered under his breath). Later on, the Bell family heard strange tapping on the side of their house. After several failed attempts to catch whoever was making the noise, it went inside. In the following weeks, the Bell children woke up in the night by what they described as "rats gnawing at their bedposts". Not long after that, the children began complaining of their blankets being jerked off and their pillows tossed onto the floor by invisible hands. As time went on, the haunting became more and more pronounced. The Bells began hearing a disembodied voice which seemed to be an old woman singing hymns. Betsy Bell, the youngest, often experienced violent abuse from the thing. It pulled her hair and slapped her face, leaving large, red welts and handprints on her face and body. Once, a neighbor stayed the night with the Bells, and after a long night of being pinched and slapped, he sprang out of bed and yelled "In the name of the Lord, who are you and what do you want?" There was no reply from the entity and the rest of the night was reasonably quiet.<br>Over time, the disembodied voice grew stronger and stronger to the point where it was unmistakable. It sang hymns, quoted the Bible, and even quoted word-for-word two separate sermons that were being held thirteen miles away from the house and each other. Word spread, and the entity caught the attention of Andrew Jackson. John Jr., Drewry, and Jesse Bell had fought under Jackson during the Battle of New Orleans. In 1819, he decided to visit the Bell farm and see what all the ruckus was about. As Jackson's entourage (men, several horses, and a wagon) approached the farm, the wagon suddenly stopped. Try as they might, the horses couldn't pull it. After several minutes of trying to get the wagon to move, Jackson said "By the Eternal, boys! That must be the Bell Witch!" Then a disembodied female voice told them that the entourage could proceed and that they would see her again that evening. Sure enough, the wagon could move again, and Jackson told the Bells about their experience with the 'witch'. Evening came, and after several uneventful hours, one of the men claimed to be a 'witch-tamer' and pulled out a shiny pistol and claimed that its silver bullet would kill any evil spirit it came into contact with; and that was why nothing had happened yet. The words had barely been out of his mouth when he started screaming and jerking his body in different directions, complaining that he was being stuck with pins and severely beaten. Then, the witch kicked him out the front door. Angrily, a disembodied voice told them that another fraud was in their party and would be identified and tormented the following day. The men in Jackson's entourage wanted to leave, but Jackson himself wanted to stay. Not wanting to disobey a superior's orders, the whole group stayed the night. It isn't clear what happened next, but the group (Jackson included) headed out for Springfield in the morning at a fairly quick pace.  
>The disturbances decreased, but the entity still vowed to see John Bell in his grave. John started to experience twitching in his face and had difficulty swallowing for almost a year, which seemed to grow worse as he grew older. By the fall of 1820, John was bedridden and the entity took off his shoes when he tried to walk and slapped his face when he had seizures. On December 20th, 1820, Old John Bell breathed his last breath after slipping into a coma the day before. Immediately, the family found a vial of unidentified liquid in the cupboard. Suspicious, they gave some of the liquid to the cat, which died instantly. The witch spoke up, saying "I gave Ol' Jack a big dose of that last night, which fixed him!" John Jr. quickly threw the vial into the fireplace, which exploded blue flame and shot up the chimney. John Sr.'s funeral was one of the biggest ever in Robertson County. As family and friends were entering the graveyard, the witch began laughing and sang a song about a bottle of brandy, which didn't stop until everyone was out of the graveyard. After John Bell's demise, the witch's presence was nearly nonexistent, as it had lived up to its promise: it had seen John Bell in his grave.<br>**(A.N. This is only part one of America's story-there is another ghostly tale to come! I will be working on it, but this is all I have so far. Sorry for taking four days to come up with this, but the internet was out :( Bad power outage! Bad power outage!)**


	6. America part 2

The weirdness doesn't end in the South, though. Up in Michigan, near the Au Sable river there used to be a logging camp. A local native left his tribe to join the lumbermen and changed his name to William Cloud. He was well-liked, and the other lumberjacks enjoyed hearing "Cloudy"'s tales of local lore-especially the story of the wraith that lived in the creek that powered the local log chute. It was an evil creature who loved nothing better than to wrap its long arms around anything and drag them down into the water to drown. That spring, there was a heavy rain and the creek was flooded almost to its limits. On a particularly stormy night, the order was given to lower the gate of the chute and send the collected logs downstream to the mill. Nobody wanted to do the job, so they drew straws and Cloudy came up with the short one. He had to go.  
>The rain was pounding down when Cloudy got outside. He hugged his coat tightly around him and went through the pitch-black night to the log chute. Now, to lower the gate, Cloudy had to pull out two pins that were holding it in place. As Cloudy released the first pin, he heard a foul hissing sound from beside the floating raft of logs. His head whipped around and saw a grotesque form rising from the swirling stream. Its face was framed by wild, week-strewn hair, and dark slimy scales covered its loathsome body. The first pin came out. The wraith rose upwards, out of the water. Cloudy tugged frantically at the second pin, eager to finish his job and go away, when the pin got stuck. It was halfway out and halfway in! Suddenly, the wraith jumped out of the water! Cloudy was smart and jumped back as far as his legs could carry him, but behind him the wraith howled and Cloudy raced blindly in the darkness back to the cabin where the lumberjacks slept. Suddenly, Cloudy stopped hearing the wraith running behind him. Suspicious, he didn't slow down, but he looked back, just to make sure. When he turned back around, the wraith was standing right in front of him! I t had sprang up into the trees and had gone on Cloudy ran right into the wraith's waiting arms. He gave out one desperate cry of fear and despair, but the lightning-fast movement of a razor-sharp claw cut it short, and the woods were silent once more.<br>Back at the cabin, Cloudy's fellow lumberjacks were waiting for him to come back. Ethan, a friend of Cloudy, and several other loggers decided to look for him when morning came. Within ten minutes, the search party was at the gate. They lowered a lantern to the level of the water. Now, they would be able to see into the depths of the river. Ethan gave a gasp of fright when he spotted the mangled face of his friend Cloudy. The loggers lifted the gate and drew out his body with pike poles. His body had been ripped to shreds, and his head was almost completely severed from his body. News of the murderous wraith spread through camp and nobody would go out to the gate anymore. And with good reason.  
>A week after Cloudy's death, Ethan was woken up in the middle of the night by a strange blue light above his bed. He opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with the ghost of Cloudy! The kindly spirit told Ethan that the wraith was ravenous and had marked him for its next meal. At daybreak, Ethan packed his bags and left. He told a few of his friends about Cloudy's warning, and by dusk, the camp was deserted.<br>The log chute fell into disrepair and slowly crumbled away, never to be replaced. The wraith still lurks in the stream, but it waits in vain because the ghost of William Cloud haunts the area. He scares away clueless travelers with loud wailing, determined to keep the wraith from going on another murderous rampage.

"... That was actually a good story..."  
>"And he wasn't the hero for once, aru."<br>"I think Lithuania should go next, da?"  
>"AH! I-i mean of course, Mr. Russia! Now let me think..."<br>**  
><strong>**(A.N. OK, so America part 2! Every country will have two ghost stories, btw. So, Lithuania next for PunkySexyBitch! With any luck, I will have it halfway done by the end of the hour, so Lithuania might be split up as well. ^_^)**

**Edit: I've been looking, and I can't really find any ghost stories from Lithuania, so I'll have a story that was submitted in a review and a seperate story that I found on YouTube. The story that was submitted took place in Russia, and the YouTube one has quite a lot to do with Hetalia :D Unfortunately, that means that it might take another two days to upload them. It'd be up sooner, but every four days I have to go to a pointless class that takes up my study hall :( Oh well...)**


	7. Lithuania

**(A.N. So, Like it says in the last chapter, I couldn't find any ghost stories from Lithuania, but I DO have a couple of stories that I've become aware of over the past month or so. I don't own either of them! The first story was an actual encounter and was sent to me in a review from Crepe and Macaron (from Belarus' POV). I saw the second one as a con vid on YouTube. If you type in RussiaARU The Second Break it'll come up. It's the thumbnail that's really dark. If they are reading this, or if someone knows them, tell them that they're Prussia-level awesome! But anyway...)**  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply<p>

I was still a child when this happened. Brother, sister, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia and I had to stay in a cottage near a beach. It was the cozy type of place that I liked, so I didn't complain, but then, it happened. We were playing, when I noticed something in the water. I saw a dim blue light coming from it, so I approached it. Brother and sister had gone back to the cottage at this point, so it was just the Baltic trio with me. I can't remember what happened exactly, but I was suddenly drowning in the water, unable to move. Something was pulling me there. Brother was able to save me, and I stayed away from the water, claiming that the devil wanted to drag me down with him there. I didn't know how right I was when I said that though. That night, something had grabbed me. Again, I couldn't move, but I felt the cold wet hand grasping my ankle, pulling me. I couldn't breath, or open my eyes. I was able to smell the seaweed and fish, and hear the dripping water, the deep breathing of whoever it was. It was when I heard the door open that I started to panic. The sand was rough against me, since my captor didn't even bother to carry me. I could hear the waves. I started to feel the water go into my nightgown, scaring me more. I  
>opened my eyes and I was horrified. In front of me was the most horrifying creature ever. It looked like a bloody, mutilated mermaid with red eyes and burnt skin. I could feel the water around me, going in my ears, and I held my breath. I was soon engulfed with water. "Belarus!" I heard my sister's yell. The creature's grip on my ankle tightened, hurting me. I opened my eyes and screamed, struggling to get out of the water. The thing just tried to drown me more. Brother and Lithuania came to the rescue, throwing rocks at the thing. When it's grip on me was loose<br>enough, I kicked it and swam as fast as I could to the shore, into my siblings' arms. I was gasping for air, and they were so focused on me to notice the thing that tried to kill me. When we looked at the water, it was red with blood. My nightgown was too, as well as the strange hand print around my ankle. When we returned to the cottage, droplets of blood were everywhere.  
>The weirdest thing is... -Belarus removes her shoe and one of her knee-length stockings. There is a hand-like imprint on it that looks like a scar- This is still here... And whenever I go to a beach, it always feels like someone or something is watching me.<br>At that, Belarus took out a picture and passed it around. (http:/ . org/wiki/File: Rusalka_, there's supposed to be a space between Rusalka and Bilibin) This is what attacked me. The picture was of a

"Wow, Belarus. That's pretty scary."  
>"No wonder you like your brother so much."<br>"Kowaii ne?" (Japanese for 'scary, isn't it?')  
>"That was good, but how about YOU tell us a story, Lithuania?"<br>"Well... OK. I heard this story at Mr. Russia's house."

This is the tale about a man who lived in a small cabin in the cold, snow-covered north. One day, he went out hunting with his dogs for a meal. After many hours out hunting, the wind began blowing harder and harder as time wore on. The man knew that it would get dark soon, so he headed home with just one skinny rabbit to feed him and his dogs. The man cooked up the rabbit and ate it for dinner. After he was done, he sat back in his rocker and watched the moon rise in the sky as the wind whistled round his cabin before going to bed. Just as he was beginning to doze off, however, he heard a soft knock at the door. "W-who's there?" he called, not actually expecting to hear an answer from his bedroom. But then a soft, high voice answered. "It's me. It's me. I'm here for you..."  
>Tired, yet disturbed by this, certain that he had heard wrong, the man got out of bed and opened his door just a crack. "Who's there?" he asked again in his calm, quiet voice. But there was no one to answer. Instead, he spotted a single, yellow sunflower on his doorstep. This confused the man, as he wasn't currently courting and to be completely honest, this man wasn't very good at getting people to like him. They were more inclined to be scared of him. The sunflower, then was very unexpected. However, as he wasn't sure what it was doing there, the man simply left it on the doorstep. Maybe someone had left it on accident. So, he went back to bed. He wasn't asleep for long however, when he heard a sound that was not quite a knock, but almost a scratch. The man called out "Who-who's there?" A soft, high voice answered "I got inside. I got inside. I'm here for you..." The scratching continued. The man was frightened, so he got up and went to the main room. Inside, one of the lights was on and there was a stuffed bear on the table. The man didn't own a stuffed bear... This greatly frightened the man, so he threw the bear out of the window. He was paranoid, but there didn't appear to be anyone in his cabin besides himself and his dogs, so he went back to bed.<br>In the middle of the night, he woke again to the sound of something trying to get into his cabin. It was the same scratching sound from earlier in the night, but it was coming from inside his room. The man was very alarmed. "Who's there?" he called. "I'm in our room. I'm in our room. I'm here for you..." The man turned on the lights again. this time, the closet door was slightly ajar. Now, the man was terrified. He opened the door completely to see a new tuxedo hung and ready in his closet. The man fell back, pushing away the tuxedo that had fallen onto him as he fell to the ground. He looked around wildly, but found nobody in his room in the cabin. After it was clear that nothing else could be done, he went back to bed but he couldn't sleep.

Could you sleep with that happening in your house?

His eyes started to close just as the sun was starting to rise, just finally getting to sleep after a paranoid night. But then the man was awakened one more time by that same scratching sound, this time so close it must have been at his bedpost.  
>His eyes flew open and he sat up. A small box fell from its perch on his chest. "Who's there?" the man yelled as he stared in horror at the shining ring inside. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the man felt a pair of arms wrap around him. The creature kept out from under the bed. His scream of terror was drowned out by the woman's cry:<br>"MARRY ME! MARRY ME! MARRY ME! MARRY ME!"

Russia did not appreciate that story.  
>Mainly because Belarus took that opportunity to practically squeeze the life out of him.<br>At least someone liked the story...

**(A.N. So, did you guys like it too? I literally didn't own anything I wrote in this chapter! I feel so accomplished... So, who would you like to see next? The choices are England, Ireland, or Scotland. On a totally random note, I really want to start a fic about the Christmas Truces and the Great Desert Raid. Apparently, during WWII, the Germans got fed up with the deserts they were given in their rations and someone realized that the British troops had a different one. So, they did basically an armed robbery on a group of British soldiers. :D If you're interested, let me know!)**


	8. North Italy

**(A.N. Well, Kleptogirl requested Italy, and who am I to ignore a request? And anyway, I have a really good one :D I'm only going to be doing North Italy (Veneziano), so Romano is still open for requesting. I couldn't really find a good ghost story for North Italy, so I'm going to try to make one up. Yay scary stories! As a side note, did any of you guys know that there's a movie called Italian Ghost Stories? I kinda want to go see it now...)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply****

**"**Does my little tomate have a story he wants to tell?" Spain said, pointedly looking at Romano. "Everything is a tomato to you, idiot." was the reply. "And GET OFF MY FRATELLO, POTATO BASTARD!" Romano roared at Germany. When Lithuania had finished his story, Belarus had taken the opportunity to grab Russia and start squeezing him to dea- I mean hugging him and chanting "Marry me," which had scared Italy enough to send him into Germany's arms with a terrified expression on his face. Italy whimpered.**  
><strong>**"**Ve~ It just reminds me too much of this one haunting in Venice. A pair of newlyweds were on their honeymoon there, but they made the mistake of renting rooms at this really old hotel-the Isla de Costa. It is a very nice hotel, and they serve really good pasta, but because it dates back to the 1500's, it has seen a lot of history, and it has a few ghosts. The room that this couple had rented for the weekend was being haunted by the malevolent spirit of a plague vampire." (In the 1500's, the Black Plague sprang up again around Italy, and if you're a Doctor Who fan, it's the same time period as Vampires in Venice. If you Google Vampires of Venice, when you get past the Doctor Who stuff, you'll find an article with a picture of a skull with a brick in it. A symptom of the plague was that the victim would bleed from the mouth after death, and the superstitious locals believed that the unfortunate victim was a vampire; rising out of the plague pits at night to suck the blood of the living and spread disease. They weren't very informed back in the 1500's...) Italy had a strangely blank look on his face, and when Italy of all nations has no expression everybody pays attention. He spoke almost in a monotone (another red flag) as he remembered the terrible events of that night. "The couple loved each other very much, or at least they thought they did, but the nature of plague vampires are to corrupt and twist. One night, it found the man and the woman sleeping in different beds. It decided that their relationship was not going as it wanted them to. To "fix" them, the vampire appeared in the man's dreams, when he was most vulnerable. It whispered lies to the man and planted the seed that blossomed into suspicion and, after time, hate. It whispered that the man's wife didn't really love him, she was just in the relationship for the sex, and she would be happy when he died. His wife was probably having an affair at that very moment, on their honeymoon, with another man, a better man, whom she truly loved. The man woke with a start. He looked around wildly to see an empty space where his wife should be. He didn't want to believe the spirit; he wanted to think that his wife loved him, but that idea had already been planted in his mind, and the suspicion grew. In reality, his wife had gone to the bathroom, but he didn't know that. The husband heard quiet footsteps in the hallway, and the (bathroom) door opened softly and shut. 'Ah ha!' he thought to himself. 'She's probably come back from sleeping with that other man!' He quickly laid back down and pretended to be sleeping, but was watching his wife's movements closely. She sat down on the bed, which creaked quietly. 'Oh!' thought the wife. 'He's sleeping. I shouldn't wake him up.' So, when the bed squeaked, she stopped sitting down and eased herself onto the bed. 'She doesn't want me to realize that she's been out of the room with someone else!' thought the man. 'Why didn't I see it before?' 'He's frowning.' thought the wife. 'I wonder if he is having a bad dream. I will ask him in the morning.' When morning finally came, the husband was paranoid. 'Will I catch her again?' he thought to himself, the previous night's events still planted firmly in his mind. The suspense was killing the husband, driving him insane. The wife, oblivious to her beloved husband's plight, went about her daily business as usual. The couple had fallen in love with Venice before their wedding, and they had come partly for their honeymoon, but also because they wanted to buy a house there. As it happens, the realtor was a man, and "coincidentally" (really just by sheer bad luck), whenever they had scheduled to meet him the husband had to go off and do other things. Normally, the husband was OK with this, (because which guy in his right mind would want to go and look at houses all day?) but after the vampire had made its move, this idea went over like a lead balloon. He became convinced that the realtor was the man that his wife was having an affair with. He still had other business to deal with, and his wife still met with the realtor, but the last straw was when he saw his wife and the realtor come walking hand in hand down the road (A.N. I'm not sure whether they have roads in Venice or not, but just play along) laughing at their own private jokes. The man snapped. This was the "evidence" he needed to break his mind and drive him insane. The poor man's wits had been stretched to their breaking point and the sight of his wife walking with another man was too much. Silently, he made his way to the kitchen where he knew his wife kept a boning knife for cooking. The realtor and his wife came closer. The man got the knife and started to go towards the front of the house. They came closer. The man stood by the front door. The wife unlocked the door. The husband stabbed both his wife and the realtor fifteen times and dumped their bodies into the canals. After a few days, the agency reported the realtor missing. There were reports that several people had last seen him with the wife, so police came to question the wife about where the realtor could be. They met the husband, who said that his wife was out shopping and they should come back later. They insisted on staying and waiting for his wife to come back. After 45 minutes, the husband said that he would go to the market and look for his wife. In reality, he went threw himself off a nearby bridge.

The husband's body was discovered later that day, but the wife's and the realtor's bodies were never recovered. Their ghosts can be seen haunting the house along with the plague vampire and the very angry ghost of the jealous husband still holding the boning knife, stalking the bridges of Venice."

**(A.N. So, North Italy's story :3 So, good, awful? Let me know! I have had a request to do Romania next for Myrna Maeve, so I'll post which countries you can choose from next chapter. Sorry it's taken this long to update, everyone. A lot of stuff's happened this week and it's only Tuesday... megusta) **


	9. Romania

**(A.N. Yay vampire stories! Like I said last chapter, this chapter is based on a Romanian vampire story for Myrna Maeve :) I have also decided to accept requests for stories from a particular state or city. I won't put them down in the bottom A.N., though. You have to review or PM me to let me know which one you want to see. On a related note, I've decided to open a Twitter account to let you guys know that I'm still alive in the summer and when chapters are going to come out and stuff. If you're interested, I'll put the username/ thingy on my profile. Anyway, vampires!)****  
><strong>Disclaimer: And then Buffy staked Edward. The end. I don't own anything!****

There was once a woman by the name of Cysza who lived in the Romanian countryside. She lived in a little house on the edge of town. Everybody and yet nobody wanted to live near her because strange things seemed to happen around her. Of course, she couldn't be blamed for Mrs. Erikson's horse dropping dead the day after Cysza moved in (under the cover of darkness), or the time when Uma's child broke her window and then died from plague a month later, but the townsfolk were very superstitious. To them, she was a witch. The women disliked her. The men, however, had other opinions. She was in the habit of coming into town every Saturday night to eat at the local tavern. The men always waited inside for her. When she would come in, every man there would offer to buy her drinks or dinner, and the chosen few whom she agreed to saw it as a kind of status symbol. She would invariably be wearing a blood-red dress that contrasted with her pale skin and black hair and eyes perfectly and matching red heels that she reserved for her Saturday excursions. And once in a great while, she would take one of the men home with her. They could never seem to remember exactly what happened in her house, but it made everyone envious of them, so they tried their hardest to get her attention and accompany her back again. Only one person knew what happened in the quaint little house, and that was Cysza herself. Until one day, when a curious boy from in town decided to find out for himself. He followed Cysza out of the tavern and back towards their house. The couple were walking arm in arm, and everything seemed fairly normal. It was when Cysza and the chosen man got to her house that things began to change. The couple went inside. The boy watched from across the street until the door closed. Then he went to stand by one of the windows looking inside. What he saw inside would change his life forever. Cysza and the man were on her couch, making out. The boy saw what looked like Cysza starting to kiss the man's neck, but then the man went limp and when Cysza finally stopped 'kissing' him, the man was pale. She drew her lips away and the boy saw two small puncture wounds on the man's neck-right where Cysza had been 'kissing'! When she looked up, she saw the boy looking in through the window. The first thing that came to mind for both of them was "RUN!", but for different reasons. For the boy, it meant "Run away! She's not-she can't be-human!" For Cysza, it meant "Catch him! He can't be allowed to tell anyone about this." Regardless of meaning, the boy booked it out of there and Cysza followed. The boy managed to run almost all the way back to the tavern, but because he was flustered and running for his life he was somewhat distracted. So, when he decided to take back alleyways to try to throw her off his tail, he ended up in a dead end right behind the tavern. Cysza caught and drained him there and fled before anyone reported him missing. It is said that his spirit still haunts her old house, waiting to drive the vampire away if she should ever return. ****

**(A.N. So, good? Not good? Cheesy as all get-out? Let me know! Review/PM me with country/city/state suggestions, and I'll start writing the chapter as soon as I see a review!)**


	10. Spain

**(A.N. OK, so ****bunniesareninjas requested Spain for the next country, so... On a semi-related note, I am working on the first chapter of another fic called The Christmas Truce and Other Military Disasters and I have made that Twitter account so that I can interact with you guys more (You're awesome!) and so that you know I haven't died over the summer. As it turns out, I can't make a link, but I'm Dangerous_One1. But anyway, on with the story!)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply****

The two ghost stories left very different reactions on the listeners. England was used to ghosts and ghost stories, so he just said "Well done." (1) Greece's eyes were wide and asked Romania in a scared voice "Was the woman in your story a redhead?" (2) Germany was comforting Feliciano much to the anger of his brother, who was trying to get away from Spain. Feli was always such a sunny person, so it was hard to think that anything bad could ever happen to him. The asians looked at each other and smiled. 'Just wait until _I_tell my story. Then they'll _really_be frightened' they thought. **  
><strong>It was Antonio who spoke up next. "Well, there is the story of the Santa Compaña. It is an ancient procession of candle-lit ghosts going to the underworld." The others seemed creeped out by that. "Does it do anything?" Matthew asked. Everybody screamed and jumped about three feet in the air. **  
><strong>**"**OHMYGOD! IT'S A GHOST!" "No, Alfred. It's your brother." "...oh...right..." **  
><strong>After that bit of awkwardness, Antonio answered the question. "It brings very bad luck and predicts death, kind of like Ireland's banshees. There is also the Castillo de la Concepciónin Cartagena where a woman is seen who was sandwiched between two walls. In addition to that, cries can be heard at night in the drains of the municipal library sewer because the building was used as Inquisition headquarters in the eighteenth century." "Cool." "Yeah, it is." "Kinda creepy, though." ****

**(A.N. Short chapter is short... sorry... OK, history notes for the references I put in:****  
><strong>**(1) London, England is the most haunted capital city in the world and if you're a ghost in England, you can be granted citizenship. Really. ****  
><strong>**(2) In ancient Greece, people believed that if you were ginger you were destined to become a vampire after you died. ****  
><strong>**You can request any country you want, but you can also choose from Canada, England, or Ireland.)**


	11. Japan

**(A.N. Well, bunniesareninjas requested another one: Japan! Seriously, guys. If you're out there and are reading this just for the sake of reading, REVIEW TOO! I have anonymous reviews on, so you don't have to sign in or have an account to review. I'm starting to think that nobody reads this... Anyway, in other news, I have put up a new story about true randomness during world wars one and two. Gosh, I hate shameless advertising.)****  
><strong>Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue. Got it?****

**"**That wasn't scary at all, tomato bastard!" "Lo siento, Lovi. Maybe because I'm so nice all the-" SMACK "Or not."**  
><strong>**"**I have a story to tell." Japan said quietly. Immediately, America grinned. "Dude, your stories aren't scary." (1) "I beg to differ;" China said, trembling in fear. "his mind is messed up, aru." Strangely enough, Japan seemed proud of this. "We'll see about that, America-san. We have to find four candles (2). We are going to play Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai. Normally, it would be played with one hundred candles and we would tell one hundred stories, but I can only think of four off the top of my head." When they had found the four candles, Japan went off with one and when he came back, the candle had a lumpy line around the base. "The candle is good. I will have to check the others when I get to their stories. Now, let's all sit in a circle on the floor and I will begin." ****

Long ago, on the first night of Obon, a widowed samurai named Ogiwara Shinnojo sat on his porch, watching the day fade into night. To his surprise, a beautiful young woman and her maid, who was carrying a lantern emblazoned with a peony, walked near. The pair paused to speak with Ogiwara, and he found the young woman's name to be Otsuyu. An instant attachment was formed, and Otsuyu promised to return the following night, at the same time.**  
><strong>From that night onward, always at dusk, she would arrive with her maid, carrying the same Peony Lantern. Ogiwara and Otsuyu rapidly progressed in their affair, and she took to sleeping with him, always leaving before dawn. This relationship continued for some time, and both were happy.**  
><strong>However, a suspicious neighbor, wondering at Ogiwara's new habit of staying awake all night and sleeping the day away, hid outside his house, peeking through a small hole in the wooden wall in order to observe the old man's nighttime shenanigans. Much to his surprise, he uncovered the widowed samurai passionately entwined with a skeleton, packing only scarce, clinging bits of rotting flesh and cobweb-infested long black hair. Half-mad, the neighbor fled screaming from the scene.**  
><strong>The next day he confronted Ogiwara, bringing with him a Buddhist priest who warned of the danger facing his soul. One cannot dally with the dead. Ogiwara took this to heart, and vowed to free himself from the spell of Otsuyu. With the priest's help, he surrounded his house with ofuda, strips of paper upon which are written Buddhist sutras, offering protection from the supernatural. That night, Otsuyu and her maid came as always, but they cried at the steps of his porch, unable to enter the house.**  
><strong>Night after night she returned, begging Ogiwara to remove the ofuda so that they may be lovers again. Slowly, the lonely old man's resistance slipped away, and one night he left his house to join his beloved.**  
><strong>The next morning, he was nowhere to be found. His friends looked far and wide, until the neighbor suggested they search the cemetery. At long last, they found the graves of Otsuyu and her maid, emblazoned with the same peony pattern. Opening the crypts, no one was surprised to see the corpse of Ogiwara, still passionately entwined with his skeletal lover. ****

So they say.****

With this, Japan closed his eyes, clapped his hands, and the candle went out.**  
><strong>Needless to say, this freaked out the others. They were in almost complete darkness (the fire in America's fireplace was almost out) and every small noise seemed sinister in the half-light. Japan stood up and went off with another candle. Soon, he came back, but he was tired and dragged his feet slightly. "The candle is good. Now..."****

One night, not so long ago, salaryman Taro was flushed with sake and success, having closed a deal that ensured money for his company and promotion for himself. In celebration, he had been drinking with his co-workers, and had more than his usual share.**  
><strong>In the bar, there was also a woman sitting alone. She was elegant and beautiful, with captivating eyes and glimmering black hair. Not unusually for the season, she wore a surgical mask that covered her lower face, as a protection from the various pollens and pollutions that tainted the air. **  
><strong>Salaryman Taro, feeling braver than usual, sat next to the woman and talked away at her, buying her a drink which she never touched and boasting of his success and promising future. She answered demurely but interested, and he suggested that they move to a more private bar that he knew, not so far away. She nodded, and with a wink to his co-workers the two moved out into the street.**  
><strong>Taro was quick to hurry her to a nearby, darkened alley, where he pulled her close and stared into her enchanting eyes. "Am I beautiful?" the woman asked, in a quivering voice, muffled behind the surgical mask. "Very beautiful," he replied, moving his face closer. "Am I beautiful?" she repeated, reaching behind her head to undo the barrier between their mouths. "Most beautiful." he said again, anticipating the kiss that was his.**  
><strong>The mask slipped from her face and Taro froze, unable even to scream. The woman's mouth spread from one ear to the other, consuming her lower face. From the nose down, it was split, with two flaps of skin spreading to show her rows of sharp pointed teeth. Her hinged jaw opened impossibly wide, and her misshapen mouth somehow managed to form the words again: "Am I beautiful?"**  
><strong>Salaryman Taro, aged 30, was never heard of again. ****

So they say.****

As Japan spoke the last words of his second story, the candle flickered, then went out again. Japan stood up, got the third candle, and went off with it. In the silence, the petrified countries thought they heard something whisper "Am I beautiful?" Eyes wide, they looked around for the source of the noise. **  
><strong>**"**Belarus... Please stop..." "What are you talking about, Ivan dearest? I didn't say anything."****

Japan came back to find very disturbed countries still frozen in the circle. "Are you ready for the next story?" He lit the third candle and began.****

Long, long ago, there was a Buddhist monk who was in love with a princess. The object of his affections, Sakura, was young and beautiful, but she had been sent to the monastery as a nun due to a crippling deformity that kept her right hand closed in a permanent fist. Being so deformed, it was thought that she could never be married. The monk, Seigen, pursued her, and to everyone's amazement was able to open her fused fist, revealing a small incense box that had been hidden in her hand since birth.**  
><strong>Seigen alone was not surprised, instantly recognizing the elegant and detailed box. It had belonged to his lover, a young man who, agonized at the cruel laws of gender that prevented them from marrying, committed suicide years earlier. His dying vow was to be born again as a woman so that he could be a proper wife to Seigen. The Princess Sakura was Seigen's lover reborn.**  
><strong>Repulsed at this tale, she fled from the monastery, from her karma, from Seigen, and into the waiting arms of her lover, a thief and rogue named Gonosuke. Seigen pursued her, but was no match for Gonosuke who quickly skewered him on his sword. Free to do as he will, the dastardly cad made a fast profit selling the unfortunate princess into prostitution.**  
><strong>But it didn't end there. The wraith of Seigen rose as an onryo, a deadly spirit consumed by vengeance. Sakura knew not another peaceful night, as the setting of the sun was swiftly followed by the rising of Seigen. "Cursed you are!" he screamed at her. "You have betrayed your karma, betrayed a promise made by your past self, betrayed a love that was ordained by fate." Sakura knew it was true and, after enduring much torment, decided to make amends.**  
><strong>First, she smothered the small child sleeping next to her – her own, an illegitimate byproduct of Gonosuke's lust. Next, she escaped the brothel and traveled the long road to Gonosuke's home. There, finding him asleep, she plunged a sword into his body repeatedly, while Seigen's ghost looked on approvingly. As a last act of contrition, she closed her hand again around the incense box, so delicately and intimately carved, and sheathed the sword in her own neck. ****

So they say.****

This time, the candle didn't go out. Everybody looked around expectantly, waiting for the inevitable loss of light, but it didn't come. Wordlessly, Japan put his hand into his pocket and pulled out what must have been an ancient incense box. He handed it to America, as if to say 'Still not scared?' "Open it." Slowly, America opened the box, but just as he lifted the lid, the candle went out. Japan stood up, got the final candle, and went just out of the circle of half-light. It wasn't long before he came hurrying back, however. Quietly, England said "Did you hear that?" "Hear what, Iggy?" "Is it one of your 'friends' again?" "No, you git! I could have sworn that I just heard a man screaming." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure, git! You-" "England-san, let's just finish the ghost story, shall we?"****

The cabdriver knows that the ghosts of Japan are not confined to ancient graveyards and shadow-haunted shrines. Any modern resident of the nation's capital could tell you that the taxis of Tokyo are more haunted than hearses, and his own route took him regularly through open gates to the spirit world. There was Sendagaya tunnel, which winds beneath the cemetery of Senjuiin Temple, or Shirogane tunnel, where legend has it that screaming faces are silhouetted against the tunnel's pillars and through which the Shinigami – the spirit of Death itself – is said to pass. All of his fellow cabbies could wax a yarn of passengers who got on then disappeared, or of catching a glimpse of a woman or child's face in the rear view mirror. He too had a story to tell.**  
><strong>It was a stormy autumn night, near Aoyama Cemetery, where he picked up a poor young girl drenched by the rain. It was dark, so he didn't get a good look at her face, but she seemed sad and he figured she had been visiting a recently deceased relative or friend. The address she gave was some distance away, and they drove in silence. A good cabbie doesn't make small talk when picking someone up from a cemetery.**  
><strong>When they arrived at the address, the girl didn't get out, but whispered for him to wait a bit, while she stared out the window at a 2nd floor apartment. Ten minutes or so passed as she watched, never speaking, never crying; simply observing a solitary figure move about the apartment. Suddenly, the girl asked to be taken to a new address, this one back near the cemetery where he had first picked her up. The rain was heavy, and the driver focused on the road, leaving the girl to her thoughts.**  
><strong>When he arrived at the new address, a modern house in a good neighborhood, the cabbie opened the door and turned around to collect his fare. To his surprise, he found himself staring at an empty back seat, with a deep puddle where the girl had been sitting moments before. Mouth open, he just sat there staring at the vacant seat, until a knocking on the window shook him from his reverie.**  
><strong>The father of the house, seeing the taxi outside, had calmly walked out bringing with him the exact change for the fare. He explained that the young girl had been his daughter, who died in a traffic accident some years ago and was buried in Aoyama Cemetery. From time to time, he said, she hailed a cab and, after visiting her old boyfriend's apartment, asked to be driven home. The father thanked the driver for his troubles, and sent him on his way. ****

So they say.****

The candle went out. In the darkness, Japan spoke: "The traditional Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai was used as a seance to try to contact the dead and provide a portal for them to visit us. To ignore tradition is foolhardy; to anger the dead by not providing for them tempts fate; to be in a place where others have died subjects you to forces beyond your control. Shall we look out the window to see if it has worked?" By this time, America was trembling as if he had just seen The Exorcist again. Japan took the box of matches from in front of him and lit one. He made his way to the window, looking out into the night towards the seafront (A.N. in my headcanon, America's house is an old Victorian-looking one like the one in the link in a previous chapter that is near the ocean). "It has worked. Come look!" Japan turned around and the other countries could see ghostly triplet girls outside the window. They wore long eighteenth-century dresses and couldn't have been more than ten when they died. In places, their skin was peeling off, and their eerily intelligent eyes stared into the room. The terrified countries saw the girls' mouths moving and faintly heard them say in unison "Are you our mummy?" (3)****

Then, America lost it.****

**(The bottom A.N. ran off with the next chapter's disclaimer and they're locked in a storage room together. I don't want to know what's going on in there, so see you next chapter!)**

History Notes:

1. I had a friend who laughed throughout The Grudge. O.o

2. The Japanese word for 'four' is the same as their word for 'death'. I don't know, I just thought I should put it in.

3. I just couldn't resist putting in the three girls from the beginning of The Woman in Black into a spooky story. I also couldn't resist putting in a Doctor Who reference. I'm such a nerd...


	12. Prussia

**(A.N. OK, I'm naming bunniesareninjas as my unofficial beta for this story, since he/she is the only one who seems to request anyone... Anyway, this time it's ZE AWESOME PRUSSIA going to tell his stories- "Which are the most awesome of all, of course-" Get out of the AN, Gilbert!)****  
><strong>The disclaimer ran off with last chapter's bottom AN to the storage room and I don't want to know what they're doing in there... O.o****

It was quite a while before America calmed down enough for the countries to continue telling their stories. At last, Prussia spoke up, saying that he had an awesome ghost story that nobody could beat. Immediately, everyone was interested. Everyone except America, however. Once he heard Prussia say 'ghost', he had to run upstairs to grab Mr. Pillow; then he was just as enthusiastic as the rest of the countries. **(A.N. I'm not going to attempt Prussia's accent, I'd probably botch it :( )****  
><strong>**"**As you all know, once the Berlin Wall went up in 1961, the trains that went from one side of the city to the other had a bit of a problem. Should they close down that specific train line or just turn around at the border? Some did one, some did the other, some did both; but the lines that turned around are un-awesome, so I'm not going to be talking about them. It's the abandoned ones that are haunted. Friedrichstrasse station (1) was the scene of a rather gruesome murder (2) in 1965. The incident, most unfortunately, was caused by a Beatles concert in Hamburg (3). Hamburg was in West Germany, and a set of triplet girls wanted to go see them. That was fine, except they were from East Germany. They decided to sneak over for the night through one of the abandoned tunnels-today's Friedrichstrasse station. What they didn't know was that it wasn't abandoned. Fritz Honka (4) was using the same tunnel as his hideout. The poor girls walked right into his arms. Five weeks later, the mutilated and slightly decomposed bodies of three girls were found by local police after their parents had reported them missing. One of the unfortunate girls' brother reported following the three to the tunnel and then turning back because 'It was dark and scary in there'. **  
><strong>Ever since that fateful night, ghostly screams can be heard emanating from the walls near the old east/west borderline, and when the station came into operation again in 1989 the faint figures of the three girls in 60's style clothes walking down the train tracks towards the site where they were found and they disappear. In fact, those girls that were in the window looked an awful lot like them."****

**(A.N. What could this mean? ...To tell the truth, I don't know yet, but I will by the time I finish this! btw, this is what I mean by the three triplets both from this chapter and the one before: ****http:/ www. 8daysageek .com /wp- content/ uploads /2012/02/ TWIB- Creepy- Dead- Girls- 300x225. jpg****. Of course, if you **_**want**_**to request a country, feel free. Also, if nothing happens within around a week, I'm doing either England or Canada. ^^)****  
><strong>History Notes:**  
><strong>1. Friedrichstrasse station was really an abandoned tunnel in Germany, but the only connection to ghosts that it has is that the abandoned train tunnels were called 'ghost stations'. I regret nothing.**  
><strong>2. It wasn't really. I'm not trying to freak out German tourists. I'm really not trying!**  
><strong>3. The Beatles actually did do a concert in Hamburg, but it was in '62.**  
><strong>4. Fritz Honka was a German serial killer, but he was around '75, and there is no record of him ever killing triplets in an abandoned train tunnel. He did murder at least four prostitutes from Hamburg's red light district, though.


	13. France

**(A.N. Sorry I haven't updated in forever! ^^; All I can say is blame my evil Chemistry teacher, who thinks it's a good idea to start a new concept before the class gets how to do the last one **_**one week**_**before the final! One week! *disgusted* So anyway, France this time! Acting very... French. Ohhonhonhonhonhonhon**_**-SLAP**__**Bleeding twit! Don't you have any manners?**_**Bring it on, Black Sheep of Europe! **_**I told you never to call me that!**_**... ^.^;; Well, just don't kill each other. Also,****IcarusWing requested England to be next, so he will :D****)****  
><strong>Standard (slightly achy) Disclaimers Apply****

When Gilbert pointed out the three girls again, everybody turned around and freaked out because the creepy trio was now in the room right in front of the window. This prompted several different reactions from the assembled countries. Italy said "Ve~ Germany! Help me!" and all but jumped into Germany's arms. Romano's eyes became about as big as saucers and he passed out. America freaked out, yelling "'snotarealghost! I'mjustgoingtopretendthat'snotreal!" while Mr. Pillow was getting the life squeezed out of it. Japan looked on in a slightly apathetic manner. France took that opportunity to jump into England's lap, and England first got rid of France by unceremoniously dumping him on the ground, then went up to the trio of ghosts, murmuring in a comforting tone of voice to them. Eventually, the four of them came closer to the circle, and England said "They won't hurt us, they just like listening to the stories. Who wants to go next?" One of the creepy girls shuffled over to France (A.N. Erryday I'm shufflin') and silently pointed to him. At first, France looked shocked and a little scared, but then his usual pervy smile came onto his face and he lightly kissed the top of her hand; proving the theory that France could and would hit on anything that moved. "But of course, _ma cherie_." And so, once again, it began.**  
><strong>**"**A pair of schoolgirls were visiting Paris when one said that she wanted to see Chopin's grave at the Pere Lachaise cemetery. Since both girls liked classical music, the other agreed. Nothing unusual happened on the way there, but when they got closer to Chopin's grave, strange things started happening." At this point, (predictably) Austria was interested. "One of the girls wanted to have a picture taken by the headstone. Her friend started to take the picture, but when she looked into the viewfinder, she saw her friend standing on one side of the headstone and a young man on the other. She looked up, ready to let the young man's friends take a picture of him first (even though she did not see anyone else there when the girls arrived). He clearly was a fan of Chopin as well: why else would he be wearing such an dated outfit? However, when the girl looked up, her friend was alone by the gravesite. When she looked back in the camera, the young man was still there, so she took the picture to show to her friend when they got back to the hotel. The friend was shocked when she saw the photo later that day. The young man obviously wanted to be photographed; he was standing very confidently and he had a mischievous smile on his face. Suddenly, the friend gasped. She rummaged around in her suitcase to find a rather large book with the young man on the cover. The book was called The Life and Times of Frédéric François Chopin.**"******

**(A.N. Really short chapter is really short. ^^; It's been **_**forever**_**since I updated, so I decided to put this up. The England chapter will be really long, though. I have a ton of stories for England :D Anyway... see you then!**


	14. England part 1

**(A.N. Well, it's the England chapter! I have a **_**ton**_**of stories for England. It's insane how many ghosts they have over there! You can take a ghost tour of London if you want, and that's basically what I'm going to do for this chapter. Most likely, England will have two parts, with a different set of locations each chapter. But anyway, IcarusWing (and Misery Inkwell) have requested England and here he is! Also, TheQuestionThatRemains and MeiMeiaru8 have both requested Canada, so he will go next. Austria will go after America's hat (as requested by Mistress Murder), then China. XD Thanks for reviewing, everyone! I've never had so many reviews in my e-mail (or such a short chapter) before!)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply****

**"**You call that a ghost story? That wouldn't scare my grandmother!" "Oh yeah? I'd like to see you do better, Black Sheep of Europe!" "Trust me, I will..." That seemed to be what England was waiting for. At those words, a creepy, Russia-like aura came around him, and even the three ghosts edged away. "You have heard of the Tower of London? It's one of the most haunted buildings in London. Hampton Court Palace is also occupied by old bosses. Catherine Howard and Anne Boelyn were two of Henry VIII's wives. Henry's marriage to Anne Boelyn changed the history of England. At the time, Henry was already married to Catherine of Aragon and (according to the Roman Catholic Church) couldn't get a divorce. So, he created the Church of England, divorced Catherine, and married Anne. Now, what the king wanted most was a male heir to take over the throne when he died. Catherine gave birth to Princess Mary, and later Anne had the future Queen Elizabeth I. Neither wife gave the aging king any sons. By this time, Henry was already courting his next wife, Jane Seymour. He wanted to be rid of Anne so he could try again with Jane, so Henry accused her of treason and imprisoned her in the Tower of London. She was executed on May 19th, 1536 by beheading. She is traditionally seen dressed all in white and carrying her dripping, severed head, she arrives in a coach driven by a headless coachman and four headless horses. She usually manifests on the anniversary of her death.Catherine married Henry in 1540, but had an affair (possibly several) with a young courtier called Thomas Culpepper. Two years after the marriage, Henry found out about Catherine's adultery and had her arrested and held prisoner in Hampton Court Palace. A week before her execution, Catherine tried in vain to reach Henry and beg for forgiveness by tearing through the hallways to the chapel in Hampton Court, where Henry was at that time. Her attempts were futile and she was dragged back to her room to await execution. Later that week, she was taken to the Tower of London to await execution. The day before her death date, she asked for the chopping block to be placed in her room so she could practice putting her head on it.Catherine Howard was executed by beheading at the Tower of London - she was just 21 years old. Following the execution of Catherine Howard her severed head was held up by the hair by the executioner, not as many people think to show the crowd the head, but in fact to show the head the crowd and it's own body! After beheading Catherine Howard would have been conscious for at least eight seconds until the lack of oxygen caused her unconsciousness and eventual death. The ghost of Catherine Howard haunts Hampton Court Palace and is seen running through the halls, screaming for Henry. On seven separate occasions, women taking a tour of the palace have passed out on the same spot. When they regain conciousness, they report a feeling of terror and hopelessness, then a sudden punching sensation on their necks, and they pass out. Those women had had an encounter with the spirit of Catherine Howard. The place where they were standing is where her ghost manifests before running down the hallways. How's that for a scary story, France?"**  
><strong>**  
><strong>**(A.N. I will put up another chapter on England, then I will go on to the other countries. XD)**


	15. England part 2

**(A.N. Thanks to ****Mariko Midori, Trchan, and XialdlinNobody for reviewing! Also, to XialdinNobody: I already have a Lithuania chapter, it just doesn't seem like it because I couldn't find any Lithuanian ghost stories for him so I put in two randoms that I found. ^^; Anyway, England part 2!)******

No. 50 Berkeley Square, Mayfair is one of the most posh houses in the area. However, it has a dark secret. The ghoul that resides there has claimed the lives of all who sleep in a particular room at the top of the stairs. Nobody knows truly where the Berkeley Square Ghoul came from. Some say that the house was bought in the Victorian times in preparation for marriage, but the man who bought the house was jilted and lived in the house as a recluse for the remainder of his days. Another version concerns an owner who locked his mentally deranged brother in that top room, the prisoner so dangerous that he was fed through a special device in the door, a door that was never opened.The top room was known locally for the strange noises emanating from it: groans, bells, screams, even when the building was empty, as it often seemed to be. One family took the place on, though they kept away from the top room until it was needed to put up the fiancé of one of the daughters of the house. A maid was sent up to start preparing it. Her screams brought the household running to her, but she was already too mad to speak, and died shortly afterwards. The foolhardy fiancé, in a show of bravery perhaps, slept there anyway, and met the same horrible fate. When the house had been again abandoned two sailors broke in to doss down there, naturally choosing the top room. They were woken by a huge shape rushing into their impromptu quarters: one escaped and sought a policeman, the other fell or was pushed to his death below, speared by the all the intelligence of a horror movie teen one Sir Robert Warboys for a bet slept in the room, with his friends on the floor below listening for the bell he would ring if danger loomed. Ring he did, at midnight. They found him dead, his face a mask of mad terror, the fourth victim of the huge brown ghoul. Another upper class twit, Lord Lyttleton, took the same dare, but his shotgun loaded with silver coins when fired at the shape succeeded in driving it away. Who or what the giant shape had been in life is not known, nor why it was so malevolent. No further reports of deadly activity have surfaced in recent years. But it is hard to think the room in question is today the most sought after in the elegant old building.**  
><strong>Getting away from London, one of the best-documented Black Shuck legends comes from Norfolk. Whether the name Shuck comes from the Anglo-Saxon for demon, or dialect for shaggy is not clear, but what is very plain is that you don't want to meet this beast. The Vikings imported the legend of a great black demon dog into Britain, and of course the East Anglian coast was prime territory for Viking Raids. It may even have been that the savage Vikings brought giant hunting hounds with them across the sea. That the legend lives on in the area is not surprising: the coast is extensive, the cliff paths lonely and dark, and the cold wind whipping in from the North Sea completes the picture of ancient Shuck is said to be a giant dog, descriptions varying from Rottweiler scale to the size of a horse. If that isn't enough, he possesses giant red eyes, or green, or possibly yellow, the size of saucers. Though sometimes he is headless. Or just has one eye. Try not to think about him as you stroll in the late evening along the shoreline of Sheringham , Cromer and Overstrand . But above all try not to turn and face him if you sense his presence behind you - those who meet Shuck's gaze are said to expire within a twelvemonth. In 1890 a boy was rescued from the sea here, driven further and further into it by a giant black hound, and if you listen carefully on the darkest nights you can hear him still, though some say it is just a trick of the wind rolling over the clifftops. Nothing to worry about hill of Beeston Bump just outside Sheringham is particularly associated with the demonic hound, perhaps a special lookout spot for the beast. Perhaps keeping an eye out for his next victim - red, yellow or green it would seem to make little difference to the terrifying Arthur Conan Doyle , recuperating in a Cromer hotel, almost certainly got the raw material for his great Hound of the Baskervilles story from the tale, related to him by a Norfolk friend, Bertram Robinson. The dog's regular path (or one of them) was said to lead to the undoubtedly spooky looking Cromer Hall, though Overstrand a mile or so further east goes one better, with a lane named after the creature. Don't worry too much about Shuck if you visit Norfolk, however, as chances are you will miss him, his beat ranging as far away as Great Yarmouth . But if your paths do cross, remember to look away. If you can.**  
><strong>**(A.N. So, England part 2! Next up is Canada, Austria, and China in that order. You guys really are the best! 3)**


	16. Canada who?

**(A.N. So, next up is that guy... who is he again? The one who Russia always sits on... I don't know. But anyway, on with it!)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply****

**"**I have stories too, eh?" "Youhave stories, Canadia?" "So that's who he is..." "I'm CANADA! Not Canadia!" "Who?" Barely resisting the urge to facepalm, Matthew simply started to tell his set of ghost stories. The other countries were a little freaked out by Canada's appearance. Instead of his normally timid face, Matthew had a satisfied smirk, as if to say 'who indeed, eh?' and he looked like he wanted to beat someone with his hockey stick. It just added to the unsettling atmosphere in the room. Matthew started to speak in a slightly more feminine voice. It wasn't too noticeable, but it was there. France, America, and England noticed. **  
><strong>**"**Ever since a college student moved into her new house off campus she felt like she was being watched. Eventually, she became slightly paranoid. She felt the sensation of someone watching her all the time, until one day she got fed up. She challenged whomever or whatever was there to show itself or somehow prove that it wasn't just her imagination. About an hour later, nothing had happened so she decided to go to sleep. That was a bad idea. As soon as she had laid down, her head started to hurt, and the feeling quickly spread to the rest of her body. She no longer had control of her body. Whatever was controlling her made her go into her roommate's room that had a large mirror. She was white as a sheet and was shaking all over. There was also someone else's reflection above her own. Suddenly, she had control of her body again and she ran out of the room, terrified. When she got back to her room, the entity whose reflection she had seen before was waiting for her there. It was the specter of a man around 20-25 years old standing at the foot of her bed. He simply looked at her, said 'Was that real enough for you?', laughed quietly to himself, and vanished. Two weeks later, she moved back into the college dorms with her housemate." **  
><strong>At this, Matthew's voice changed again to a more masculine voice. He was telling the story from his citizen's point of view, and what happened in the story must have happened to a man this time.**  
><strong>**"**There's this oldish abandoned house just off of Creditview Highway in Ontario that's about 10-15 minutes walking distance from the inner city. Anyway, we-me, and a friend of mine- heard that the house was haunted. Being the impulsive 17-year-olds we were, we decided to go check it out. During the day, it wasn't too bad. It was a little bit creepy, but still... There were photos everywhere. Polaroid photos of people, places, random stuff, that all seemed really old. Like 1960's old. The creepiest place was the basement. It was freezing there, and this happened in the middle of August. Everywhere else in the house it was sweltering. About two weeks later, my friends and I decided to go to the house again at night. There were about six of us total when we went inside. As soon as I came in, I felt something push me back slightly. It scared me a bit, but I kept walking. Shortly after, we were sitting on one of the couches and I heard a baby cry. I didn't want my friends to think I was crazy, so I didn't say anything until one of my friends said 'You guys hear that?' Immediately, I said that I had as well. Right after that, we started seeing this black figure floating in front of us making this demonic growling sound, so we decided to get the hell out of there. We were like six bats out of hell, except for one. My friend Alix tripped at the threshold and was being pulled back inside! A friend and I started pulling her out, but the thing wouldn't let her go. After a while, it did and the three of us fell down the front steps. We knew whatever it was didn't want us in the house, so we headed to the hospital because Liz's leg bone was sticking out of her shin. That happened one year ago and I never came back to that house again. Whatever was in there can stay there."****

**(A.N. I was pretty surprised when I was looking up the stories for this chapter. For some reason, I didn't think that Mattie would have many ghost stories, and if he had any they wouldn't be too scary. Boy, was I wrong... So, Austria and China next in that order. Then Ireland and Romano for AshMeowsYaoi and Carefree Insanity. I've got another goodie up my sleeve for Ireland (despite the fact that it was 94 degrees outside yesterday), so stay tuned for that... XD)**


	17. Austria

**(A.N. So, Austria! Yes, the Krampus part is from the Chibi Prussia Diaries from Arkham Insanity on DeviantArt. I wish I owned that pure awesomeness, but I don't :( btw, if you are wondering about the status of the chapters before I post them over the summer, check out my Twitter feed: Dangerous_One. During the flashback, bold writing is Prussia narrating the story in present day.)**

Standard Disclaimers Apply

After Alfred's-no, sorry-Mattie's stories, Prussia turned to Austria, saying "Why don't you go next, Roddy? You probably don't have any scary stories." At that moment, the Austria sitting down vanished and another Austria came in through the door. "Sorry I'm late everyone. What did I miss? . . . What?" The sitting nations had their mouths on the floor and their eyes bugging out at him. China filled him in: "You were just here, aru. You were sitting next to Prussia-" "And he's not dead? There's a red flag..." "-and he asked you to tell your ghost stories and you vanished, aru. Then another you came through the door." "It must have been my doppelganger. I've been seeing him rather a lot lately. I've actually seen one of almost everyone here." Austria took a deep breath, sat down, and began to explain:

"What you saw was a doppelganger. Everyone has one, but they tend to show themselves before times of hardship. A doppelgänger seen by a person's friends or relatives portends illness or danger, while seeing one's own doppelgänger is an omen of death. That wouldn't affect us, but I did see Germany's before the world wars and Britain's before the blitz."

"That's freaky, dude." "I agree with America-san." "Well, I disagree with the bloody git." "Then I agree." "Why are you agreeing?" "I agree because you disagree." "So we agree to disagree?" "No. We disagree because of agreement." "SHUT UP, FROG!"

"Shut up, both of you! Tell 'em about the Krampus, Austria! I definitely think you should tell that awesome one!" At this, Austria actually blushed from (it seemed) embarrassment. "No, Prussia. I will not." "Then I will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me! So, the Krampus is a sort of 2P!Santa Claus. Instead of just putting coal in someone's stocking if they've been bad, the Krampus carries around a bundle of switches and spanks the-" "Tres tres bien \*O*/" "-bad kids. If the child in question has been especially bad, Krampus will put them in his sack and take them away. Now, when I was small, I liked to pick on Austria and Hungary because I am awesome and they are not. So...

*Flashback/narrative thingy*

It was December first, and the chibis were out playing. Prussia was busy making snowballs, Austria and Hungary were making a snowman, and HRE was inside warming up after getting one of Prussia's snowballs down his shirt. Austria and Hungary were almost done with their snowman when one of Prussia's snowballs sailed over, knocking Austria into the snowman's cold arms. Predictably, Hungary started yelling at him. "Prussia! You big meanie! You just wait! You're gonna get yours!... It's almost the fifth of December and Krampus is gonna come and get you and punish you for all your naughtiness!" With that, Hungary helped Austria up and took him home. Prussia stood there, confused. "Krampus? Who the heck is Krampus?"

So, I went home to ask Germania about it.

"Vati! Vati! (A.N. Vati is German for Dad) Is Krampus for real? Of is it just something made up to scare kids into being good and stuff?" Germania had no clue what Prussia was talking about, but decided to answer anyway. "Ja, Krampus is real." "What? Really? B-but he doesn't really go around punishing naughty boys... say with a bundle of switches and then carry them off in his sack to some strange faraway unknown country like Spain, right?" "Ja, sure. Why not?" "WHAT? Vati! Why didn't you warn me?" "Get off the floor. You're going to ruin your tunic."

So, I wrote a letter. I didn't think it would help much, but it was worth a shot.

Dear Krampus,

Despite what you might have heard, I have been a good boy all year. . . so. . .

Please don't come.

The night of December fifth, me and Luddie were laying in bed, when. . .

What was that noise? It seemed like a scratching sound in the window. Prussia sat up quickly as the scratching continued. Because Germania had streached fabric over the window, Prussia couldn't see much, but he did manage to make out the silhouette of. . . It couldn't be. . . It was the Krampus! "Aah! Bruder! Bruder! Wake up! I'm scared! Gyaa!" Outside, Hungary and Austria laughed quietly to themselves. Austria had Hungary on his shoulders behind their "Krampus"-a snowman-while Hungary scratched at the window with a forked stick. "Best. Plan. Ever!" Hungary chortled down to Austria as she continued to scratch. Back inside, Luddie had woken up and scooted away from the wet patch on the bed as Prussia said "Nein! I won't go down without a fight! If I must go down, I will take that Krampus down with me!" Prussia grabbed his "crop" (really Herr stick+a leaf) and the boys' chamber bucket as the door slowly opened inward...

Meanwhile. . .

"Mein kinder are surely asleep by now. I will just leave these winter solstice gifts for them under their pillows. . . Won't Gilbert be surprised. . . " Germania thought to himself as he opened the door to Gilbert and Ludwig's bedroom when-"DIE KRAMPUS YOU ARSCHLOCH!" Like a bat out of hell, Prussia came flying out of the room, managing to hit Germania full in the face with the chamber bucket and break his "crop" at the same time. "Oh Vati. . . It's just you. Well, that's a relief. I was afraid you were some terrible monster that was going to spank me."

Meanwhile outside. . .

The Krampus looked inside the germanic household as Germania laid into Prussia. "Well how do you like that? Germania doing my job. . . The nerve! I guess I've got nothing else to do here!" There was the sound of laughter and a high five or two from around the corner of the house. "Oh wait. . . " Stealthily, the Krampus snuck around to find Chibi Austria and Hungary laughing at Prussia's predicament. "Yes I do!" And with that, he scooped up Austria and Hungary and put him in his sack to take them home.

*End of flashback/narrative thingy*

"And so that's how it ended! Awesome, isn't it?" "Did you really have to tell that story?" "Yes!"

**(A.N. China next, then Ireland and Italy Romano! Personally, I love the British Isles because of this fic. There's so freaking many ghost stories! It's so awesome! \*o*/ Anyway...)**


	18. Ireland

**(A.N. So, this is probably the last chapter that will come out for a while. I'm going to be out of school and I won't have too much access to a computer (blame my computer nazi mother). So, to commemorate the last day of school, here's Ireland (Martin Kirkland)!)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply**  
><strong>**"**Enough of these nancy boy stories. Let's hear some _really_scary stories!" "Aw, come on Martin! Really?" "Yeah, really! What's wrong? Too chicken?" "Never! The hero is never a chicken!" "Stuff it already and get on with your stories!"****

Sit back and listen to the story of Leap. The year was 1532. A Catholic priest was saying Mass in the chapel located on the top floor of Leap Castle. As the Rites were being read by the priest, a dark figure could be seen behind him. Without warning a man sprung up behind the priest and plunged a dagger deep into his back, causing the priest to bleed to death on the altar. The man who killed him was his own brother. The bloodshed over a sacred mass caused the first haunting of Leap Castle, and the room has since been called the "Bloody Chapel". It is believed this act paved the way for twenty more ghosts to wreak havoc on curious guests at Leap. On Saturday night, November 8, 2003 a group of American paranormal investigators were invited to a banquet at Leap Castle. The experience was one of major contrasts. They were fed a feast of magnificent food and outstanding hospitality. Later they were treated to the music of the master of the house on his pan flute, his daughter's harp playing, and her exceptional dancing. While all the food and hospitality was being experienced there was an underlying more mysterious feeling in the house…something didn't feel quite right. **  
><strong>After some time had passed, a member had to leave the castle and go outside due to intense psychic attack. At one point the area felt so thick he felt unable to breathe and nearly fainted…not too uncommon for him in haunted places, but it certainly felt like they weren't wanted there. **  
><strong>Another of their members witnessed a horrible scene in a dark hallway. Two men wearing red coats were seen breaking the arm of a woman. The vision was so disturbing she was barely able to stay. The woman who saw this vision wasn't the same the rest of the night, as she experienced anxiety attacks and difficulty breathing. **  
><strong>In the Bloody Chapel, their host was looking for the head ghost of Leap, the priest murdered on the altar 400 years ago. In a small hallway in the corner of the room, the priest was seen. Their host called one of them over immediately to take a picture of the priest. In front of three witnesses, he immediately ran over there and snapped a pic, or attempted to do so. His camera jammed up right when he pushed the button, and was jammed for the rest of the evening. **  
><strong>As the night went on, the atmosphere became more intense. All their equipment failed, and the feeling of not being welcomed (despite the warm hospitality of the owner and his daughter) began to increase. They were now moving close to midnight. **  
><strong>Part of being the leader of a ghost group is knowing when enough is enough, and knowing if your team is in danger. The host and the main investigator knew they had to wrap it up before someone get hurt or attacked. The priest was getting quite agitated with them, as well as the others. They packed it up and went back to their own quarters in Cavan. **  
><strong>At this point you may be asking what makes Leap so different? Why would this castle have so man ghosts and he reputation for being the most haunted place in Europe? Many incidents were the ingredients for Leap having its reputation for being so haunted, particularly in the Bloody Chapel. In addition to the slain priest, the Bloody Chapel has a second piece of disturbing history within the ominous room. **  
><strong>The Ubilet (or uvillette) is located in the back section of the room behind where the altar once stood. Originally was a shaft with spikes located at the bottom and people were mercilessly thrown into the dungeon to die from impaling. The lucky ones died instantly, but those who survived died slow, painful deaths from exposure, starvation, and disease while smelling the food of the living and hearing the mass from the chapel above. It's unknown how many people died this way, but three cartloads of bones were removed from the shaft. **  
><strong>The third incident to add to the sinister presences of Leap came with a woman named Mildred Darby. Mildred was known to experiment with black magic, and through her rituals a new creature emerged at Leap: the fire elemental. Mildred described this creature in her journal: **  
><strong>**"**_I was standing in the Gallery looking down at the main floor, when I felt somebody put a hand on my shoulder. The thing was about the size of a sheep. Thin guanting shadowy..., its face was human, to be more accurate inhuman. Its lust in its eyes which seemed half decomposed in black cavities stared into mine. The horrible smell one hundred times intensified came up into my face, giving me a deadly nausea. It was the smell of a decomposing corpse."_In addition to the hideous past of death and the dark arts, the castle eventually fell to ruins from abandonment and human destruction. Leap was bombed in 1922 by the Irish demanding independence from England, and since the Darbys were an English family the castle was bombed and looted. **  
><strong>Leap was sold to an Australian in the 1970s, and a white witch was brought in to assist with the hostile entities. The ghosts are still there, but nowadays they coexist with the new family of musician, his wife and twelve-year-old daughter. The current family have learned to coexist with the spirits of Leap Castle. **  
><strong>Some stories say the spirits have been laid to rest. Others say they still want vengeance. All I can say is that the spirits of Leap Castle are still present and made themselves known to the investigators, and bring haunting to a new level. Through several murders, wars, dark rituals and ruin and renovation, they had plenty of practice. **  
><strong>They took some experiences back with them that they'll never forget. ****

On top of that, Charles Tottenham and his family came to live in the mansion in the middle of the 18th century. Charles Tottenham's first wife had been the Honourable Anne Loftus.**  
><strong>Charles came for a long stay in the house with his second wife, and his daughter Anne from his first marriage. During a storm, a ship unexpectedly arrived at the Hook Peninsula, which was not far from the mansion. A young man was welcomed into the mansion. Anne and the young man became very close. Then, one night they were in the parlour; when the young man dropped a card on the floor and Anne went to pick it up she glanced under the table and noticed that the young man had a hoof in place of a foot.**  
><strong>It is said that Anne screamed and the man went up through the roof, leaving behind a large hole in the ceiling. Anne was in shock and was put in her favourite room in the mansion, which was known as the Tapestry Room. She refused food and drink and sat with her knees under her chin until she died in the Tapestry Room in 1775. It is said that when she died, they could not straighten her body as her muscles had seized and she was buried in the same sitting position in which she had died. A rumour states that the hole could never be properly repaired, and it is alleged that even to this day, there is still a certain part of the ceiling which is slightly different from the rest. This, of course, is a myth, since the present house was built more than a century after the events described above. Meanwhile it was believed that the stranger with the cloven hoof returned to the house and caused persistent poltergeist activity. A number of Protestant clergymen apparently tried and failed to put a stop to this. The family, who were themselves Protestants, eventually called on Father Thomas Broaders (a Catholic priest, who was also a tenant on the Loftus Hall estate) to exorcise the house.**  
><strong>The apparent success of Father Broaders' exorcism did not end the ghostly visitations at Loftus Hall. The ghost of a young woman, presumed to be Anne Tottenham, was reported to have made frequent appearances in the old Hall, especially in the Tapestry Room, until the building was finally demolished in 1871.**  
><strong>Although the present Loftus Hall is an entirely new building, interest in the ghost story has remained strong and many aspects of the story seem to have attached themselves to the newer house. Also mentioned in a documentary about the mansion many years later after the last owners had gone had said that there were reports from staff that had previously worked at the mansion, that they have seen Anne's ghost walk down the stairs, and that horses can be heard around the building.****

**(A.N. Well, there's Ireland! anon ImCanada has requested Poveglia Island in Italy. I'll try, but I can't guarantee that I'll find ghost stories. I'll definitely look, though! Tomorrow's the last day of school for me ^_^ I'm going to burn all my old homework this weekend! I wanted to make an effigy of my Chemistry teacher also, but Mom shot down that idea... :( Oh well... Have a great summer, everyone!)**


	19. I'm back!

Hi guys! School's back in and I'm going to start updating more regularly now! I should have really put my stories on hiatus, but I was too lazy, really. Anyways, I'm back now with ideas for more stories (but I'm going to finish the two I'm working on first) and it's going to be great!

-Live Dangerously


	20. RomanoPoveglia Island

**(A.N. Hey everyone! I'm back from Summer Vacation! I'll probably be updating every other day except for weekends and this Wednesday. I'm handing out school yearbooks during my study hall. So, without further ado here's Romano! He was requested forever ago by AshMeowsYaoi. ImCanada requested Poveglia Island, a small island off the coast of Italy, so that'll be Romano's story. Enjoy! Latin translations are at the bottom.)**  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply.<br>In the half-light of the somewhat burned out fire, the countries could barely make out the faces of the others. It was a tense moment. It _had_ been a tense moment before America broke the silence by saying "Oh _snap_!" quite loudly (although the so-called "hero" had goosebumps). England opened his mouth to insult America but Romano beat him to the punch. "Shut your mouth, you damn bastard!" America blanched. "I'd like to see you do better, Tomato-face!" Instead of the expected blush everyone expected, Romano smiled a smile reminiscent of his mafioso side. "Well then. I'll tell you the story of Poveglia Island." Italy shuddered and pleaded with his brother. "Romano, please! Not _that_ story! It's scary~..." Romano sighed. "That's the point, bastardo! Now shut up! The faster she tells the story, the faster it'll be over." Spain perked up. "Lovi? Who are you talking about?" Romano simply turned to look into the darkened corner of the room. An ashen-faced girl stood there. Of course, America freaked out, jumped into England's lap, and whimpered. The girl stepped forward. She looked a bit like the Italy brothers, but female (A.N. Picture Fem!Romano but pale), wearing what looked somewhat like a toga with her long brown hair pulled into a loose bun at the base of her neck with one errant curl sticking out. "What do you want, frater*?" she asked. Romano gestured for her to sit in between himself and his brother. "Tell us your story." he said. "I don't think I'll be able to, Romano. It has been centuries..." Poveglia replied, stepping over the quivering American and sitting down where Romano indicated. "I'll help you, sorella*. Just try." "Well, all right. Just this once, though."

"Creata sum durante Grandpa Romae tempus ut locus ponere populus infectam plaga. Si velis, quorum ager efficit oris mea vere est mortuorum cineres. Mea insula postea usum durante mors atra habitationem plaga hostias. Ego habebatur effectivo et commodum quarentenam bay pro mortuis et moriens ut custodiant morbus a continenti. Super 160,000 populus obiit infra fines. Et si in illo non satis, mi excors cetera placuit sum ut esse perfectus macula pro intentione hospitium. In Felix Domus apertum in 1922 et in 1935 insiti medicus abiit insani, torqueri aegros suos ad mortem, ascendit in vertice campanae turrim, et saltauit, ad mortem. Cruciatus animas aegros suos teamed ascendit errantisque animas ex peste victimas, cogendo ei ut iret insani, eiectum illum ascendit scalam, impulit eum off in ore, et laceraverunt corpore eius correptum in atrium infra. Postremo placuit ut cetera mihi in relinqui excors cum mortuis viam malis. Ipsi persuasum prouincialium in artissimum tractum continenti ad aberit et transite fabulas usque ad et filii eorum et filii filiorum eorum, et eas cohortere, ut idem facere. Nihil in ea vult manes facio nova et nunc si veniam non ego vado ad domum meam." Poveglia finished, standing up and walking towards the fire, and vanishing right before she hit it. "Who was that and what did she say?" Wales asked, still looking at the place she had disappeared. Lovino answered. "That was our sister Lilliana. She represents Poveglia Island. She was speaking in Latin because it was the first language she learned and didn't want to learn another. She said 'I was created during Grandpa Rome's time as a place to put people infected with plague. If you visit, the 'soil' that makes up my shores is really the ashes of the dead. My island was used again during the Black Death for housing plague victims. I was considered an effective and convenient quarantine bay for the dead and dying to keep disease away from the mainland. Over 160,000 people died within my borders. And if that wasn't enough, my stupid brothers decided that I would be a perfect spot for a mental hospital. The Happy Home opened in 1922 and in 1935 the resident doctor went insane, tortured his patients to death, climbed to the top of the bell tower, and jumped to his death. The tortured souls of his patients teamed up with the wandering souls of the plague victims, forcing him to go insane, forcing him up the ladder, pushed him off the edge, and tore his body to shreds on the courtyard below. Finally, my stupid brothers decided that I should be left alone with the dead, the way I prefer it. They have convinced the locals on the closest stretch of mainland to stay away and pass the stories down to their children and their children's children and urge them to do the same. The spirits of the dead want nothing to do with this new world and neither do I. Now if you will excuse me, I will go back to my home.'" Italy whimpered. "Ve~ She's so scary~!" Everyone seemed to agree about that.  
><strong>(A.N. So, Romano and Poveglia Island! If you're interested in the ghosts of Poveglia, there's an episode of Ghost Hunters (I think) where the three hosts spend the night on the island in several 'hotspot' areas uploaded to YouTube. Next will be The Philippines and her story of the White Lady and China after that. I will probably upload this Friday. Feel free to request other countriescities, though! I'm running low on suggestions!)**


	21. The Philippines

**(A.N. Hi everyone! I'm really sorry that I haven't updated in a few days, but I had to help hand out yearbooks at my school and that took more time than I thought it would. Anyway, here's Maria (the Philippines) with her story of The White Lady. Seriously guys, review your little butts off. After this, I've got China and he's the last of the requested countries. If nobody reviews, I'll check my list to see if there's anyone else that I haven't done. If there isn't, I'll start on cities (mostly in America, but in other countries too). Review! Review! After I'm done with the cities, I'm going to start another fic.)**

"Yeah, okay Romano. Let the professionals handle the horror stories. I mean, that _was_ a bit creepy, but..." Philippines trailed off, indicating that Poveglia wasn't the scariest place or the scariest person. "Oh yeah?" Romano challenged. "What've you got? Let me guess, a lady walks down a road, sees a ghost, and runs away screaming?" Maria laughed in his face. "No, a woman walks down a road, is killed, and scares the ever-loving shit out of everyone she meets. Let me explain:  
>My story starts a long time ago. Well, if the end of World War Two counts as a long time it does. A young girl of about sixteen years was walking home late at night. She had known that she would be out late, so before leaving her house she put on a white dress so passing motorists could see her and not run her down. What happened to her was much worse. To get home, the girl had to walk down Balete Drive, a quiet, shady, road on the outskirts of her home town. That night, she was raped and decapitated by a taxi driver going past. The name of the girl and the driver have been lost to the sands of time, but what is known is this: A sixteen-year-old girl was walking home on Balete Drive when she was brutally raped, her head cut off, and the head was gone when her body was found the next morning. How do we know it was a taxi driver who did it? Her ghost still hails a taxi every year on the anniversary of her death. When they are passing the road that witnessed her demise, the car stalls in the middle of it and will not move. The driver will turn around to apologize to his 'passenger'. When he does so, he sees that the sweet-looking girl he picked up has transformed into a beaten, bloody, headless corpse lying in his backseat. As he watches, horror-stricken, the corpse stiffly sits up and stretches its arms out as if to twist off his head and use it as its own. The driver screams and scrabbles out of his cab to see the corpse "looking" out the window at him. He turns and runs as fast as his legs will carry him back to town, where he will tell his story." Finished, Maria looked defiantly at the other nations as if to say 'beat that'. Everyone was silent for a full minute before China broke the silence. "I think I can, aru."<p>

**(A.N. like it says at the top. but down here. See you guys Tuesday! I have Labor Day off :D))**


	22. China, aru

**(A.N. Hey everyone! Thanks to ChocolateFantasies for reviewing and requesting Switzerland! I'll try my best to find stories actually from Switzerland, but if I can't find any I'll get germanic ghost stories or legends. Speaking of legends, here's China with one of his! Pffft... and you thought all Asian horror was scary...)**

Standard Disclaimers Apply 

"China? What stories do you have?" Russia asked, hooking his pipe around China and bringing the smaller nation closer to him. China shuddered and started to edge away slowly. "My story is about the Jiang Shi aru. They are very scary Chinese hopping vampires aru." There was silence for almost a full minute before America burst out laughing. "Hopping vampires?! What do they do, hop on you until your bones break?" "Belt up, you twit! Let China continue!" came the inevitable British scolding. "Thank you, England aru. As I was saying, Jiang Shi are reanimated corpses somewhat similar to Haiti's zombies aru. That's where the similarities end, though. During the day, the Jiang Shi rest in coffins or hides in dark places like caves or under one's bed aru." China added, eyeing America who was close to bursting out laughing again. "At night, they rise and move around by hopping with their arms outstretched aru. They kill living creatures to harvest their qi or life essence so they may be able to live again aru. They can look almost human or sometimes they have a horrible green glow with serrated teeth and talons for nails aru. Whatever they look like, the Jiang Shi have difficulty walking because of the pain and stiffness from being dead, so they hop instead. You can always hear them coming, aru. Jiang Shi are nocturnal creatures and have a hard time crossing running water. They are particularly vicious and rip the head or limbs off their victims. They are also said to have a strong sexual drive which leads them to attack and rape women. After a period of growing stronger, the Jiang Shi would gain the ability to fly, grow long white hair, and possibly change into a wolf. How can we protect ourselves from them, you say? They can be evaded by holding one's breath, as they are blind and track living creatures by detecting their breathing. People also protect themselves from Jiang Shi by using garlic or salt. They are driven away with loud noises, and it is thought that thunder could kill them. Brooms were used to sweep the creature back to its resting spot, while iron filings, rice, and red peas were used as barriers. The Jiang Shi would see the barrier of iron, rice, or peas and they would feel the need to count each one. If a Jiang Shi reached its flying, white-haired stage, it could only be killed by a bullet or thunder. Its body must then be cremated. A good way to keep the 'hopping corpses' out of your home is to install a piece of wood six inches above the threshold. In 1761 A.D., the twenty-sixth year of the Kien-lung period, there was a time of drought in Peking and its vicinity. During this time, a courier was dispatched with an urgent message from one general to another in a different city. On the way, while he was in a lonely place, a storm suddenly brewed up and the rain poured heavily upon him. The courier took shelter in the pavilion of a post house. Here a lovely young woman joined him. She invited him to her house. The courier followed her, tied his horse to a post outside her house, and went inside. The woman treated him first with tea. They spent the night together enjoying each others embraces in bed. But when cock crowed the woman suddenly got out of bed , put on her clothes, and left. The exhausted courier fell asleep. When he awoke again, he found himself on a tombstone in the open pain. There were no buildings nearby. He found his horse tied to a tree.

Frightened, he quickly untied his horse, mounted it, and rode off. When he reached his destination, he was many hours late. Under interrogation, he told what had happened to him on the way. The general had the tomb investigated. It turned out to that of a young unmarried woman who had hung herself out of shame after it was discovered that she was no longer a virgin. Her specter had enticed and seduced travelers coming through the vicinity of her tomb. And it was suspected that her specter was the cause of the drought. The general ordered the tomb opened. There, inside, rested the woman's corpse still undecayed, plump and rosy in complexion, but covered with white hair. This corpse was then cremated. The drought ended the next day and the tomb was no longer haunted. Another story goes that the wife of a teacher named Liu woke up in the morning to find that her husband, who had been sleeping next to her, is dead. His head is missing and the bed is drenched in blood. She reports this to the local authorities who then accused her of murder and put her in jail. She remained there for months. The mystery was finally solved as the result of one of the villagers finding a neglected grave on a hillside. A coffin was laid bare next to it with the lid slightly raised. This villager summoned the rest of his community. When the coffin lid was raised, the corpse was found within resembling the deceased when he was still alive except that it was covered with white hair. Between its arms, it held the head of Liu. The head could not be pulled from the arms of the corpse. After they cut off its arms, fresh blood gushed from them and their stumps. But their was not a drop of blood to be found in Liu's head. It had been sucked dry by the vampire.

******(A.N. Sucky ending is sucky... Sorry, I ran out of time in Study Hall today. I'll put the other countries' reactions at the beginning of next chapter-Switzerland! That should be up on Friday. Don't forget to review and request a country!))**


	23. Liechtenstein

(A.N. Hi everyone! Here's ChocolateFantasies' requested country-Switzerland! I was able to get both ghost stories and legends from the area, so I'll have Lichtenstein telling the legends. There are some pretty...weird ones though... Anyway, REVIEW so I have other countries to do! The trigger-happy Germanic is the last one that was reviewed! If nobody requests a country, I'm going to focus on other stories but leave this one 'in progress' so people can STILL REQUEST countries. Yes, if you are reading this and I haven't updated in a month REVIEW! I am also accepting requests for cities, states, and provinces that I will put in another fic like this one. Well, I've got my little plea out, so here's the stories!)  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply<br>Vash gave a derisive snort. "Hopping vampires. How scary. I bet my little sister would be able to do better than that." Lilli smiled and sat up a little straighter. "I think so too, big brother. In 1702, there was a man named Hans Jori who liked to think of himself as a fiddler. He loved to play whenever he could and even had an antique violin. In actuality, Hans wasn't very good and knew it. Before long, nobody would hire him to play at their parties anymore. Hans fell into depression and one day decided to take a trip to the local bridge across the Rhine to get rid of his fiddle. He had his prized possession in one hand ready to throw it into the depths below when a stranger with a long black cloak came up to him from the other side. 'What are you doing?' the stranger asked. Hans told him of his troubles. 'I am a fiddler who can't fiddle because nobody will pay me to.' he said and the stranger nodded and said he understood. The stranger took Hans' violin and held it in his hands with one resting lightly under the neck and the other under its body, just looking at it. 'It's a very beautiful instrument, good sir' the stranger said. He gave it back and asked Hans to play at a party of women in their home two days from then. Flattery can get you everywhere, and Hans readily accepted. On the day of the party he showed up at the address he had been given. For a man who had such nice clothing, his lady friends had a quite spartan home. It was little more than a wooden shack, but Hans was a man who never went back on his word, so he entered. There were five beautiful women inside eating, laughing, and drinking fine wine. When he arrived, one said to the others 'Look, sisters. The great fiddler has arrived!' This stoked Hans' ego. He bowed politely to them, took up his fiddle, and began to play-sweet, tender music. 'That man must have done something to my violin' Hans thought as he continued to entertain the women. 'Play a traditional song next, for we are not of this country' they said and he replied by bowing again and beginning the song _Oben am jungen Rhein_, Liechtenstein's national anthem, on his magical fiddle. The women liked it so much, they proposed a toast to the health of their excellent fiddler. Hans knew it was bad luck to drink a toast to his own health, but he liked to drink wine like he loved to play music-all the time. He poured himself a measure, repeated their cheer of 'To good health and prosperity', and drank it down. Immediately, Hans realized that he wasn't in a house at all. He was sitting on the side of the town gallows, which had a row of five nooses swinging above his head ominously, ready for the morning's witch executions. The crystal glass that the wine had been in was now a wooden cup and the wine had turned to pig swill. Hans ran from the scene, leaving the cup behind, and swore never to pass over the river at night nor play the violin again, lest something worse happen to him the second time."

(A.N. OK, so I think I'm going to put up Liechtenstein as one chapter and have Switzerland as the next. Switzy's chapter will probably be up within the hour, but I wanted to get a chapter up today.)


	24. Switzerland

**(A.N. See last chapter, but for Switzerland ^_^)**  
>Standard Disclaimers Apply<p>

Vash continued to tell stories about some of the Swiss and Germanic regions. "Legend has it that Morbach, Rhineland Palitinate was the last place a werewolf was killed in Europe. A single candle still burns in the village as a reminder and a warning. One night in 1988, this candle went out and a huge wolf figure was soon spotted, standing upright at a US airbase, having scaled a three-metre high fence. He stood, staring at the soldiers then returned to the forest. The candle was re-lit and has never gone out since. Werewolves aren't the only creatures roaming the countryside. There are also stories of a Rubezahl, or naughty spirit, who travels around the many mountains of northern Europe. He exercises his taste for trickery, but occasionally gives out presents. If one should ever see a figure in medieval dress with short, gray socks, wooden sandals, and a long red beard that sticks almost straight out they would be wise to come back the way they came. But now for some ghost stories. The patron saints of Zurich, Felix, Regula, and Exuperantius, fled to the city to escape the Roman persecution of Christians. They were discovered and beheaded on the exact spot where the Wasserkirche (water church) now stands. Even in death, the saints weren't going to take that lying down. Their dead bodies then rose to their feet, picked up their heads, and walked off, leaving a trail of blood behind them. When they reached a clearing on the hill, they lay down and waited to be buried. The site of their graves is now Zurich's most famous landmark, the Grossmunster church. Another story of (possible) murder is centered on another religious building, St. Peter's Church. Buried just below the clock tower is Rudolf Brun, a city mayor in the 14th century. He died a terrible and mysterious death that some attributed to poisoning. In the 1970s, Brun's remains were examined and tested positive for arsenic. However, the result was somewhat useless because arsenic was commonly used for medicinal and recreational purposes. **(A.N. Those silly medieval people...)** Brun's bones were reburied at the clock tower, but without his skull which had mysteriously disappeared. Just a few weeks later, two boys were playing football near the gravesite, when the ball came to rest at the feet of a dark figure wearing old-fashioned clothes. The story goes that as one of the boys went to retrieve the ball, the figure turned round towards the tower wall and walked right through it. From the description the boy gave, many people believe that he saw the ghost of Rudolf Brun, perhaps disturbed by the poor treatment of his remains."

**(A.N. Yay Switzy! So, like I said last chapter, if nobody reviews and requests a chapter, I will stop updating until someone does. I don't normally like to be all mean, but other plot bunnies need to be let out of their cages.))**


	25. Sweden

**(A.N. Wow, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Sweden and Greece have been requested, along with another story from Romania. ChocolateFantasies has also submitted a ghost story from the Philippines, so I'll get to that in a bit. I'll get to Romania and Greece later as well, but for now, here's Sweden! I won't do the accent, by the way.))**

Sweden cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Once everybody was looking at him (or at least in his direction), Berwald got the same glazed look that Canada had when he told his story from the point of view of whomever experienced it. Sure enough, when he spoke his voice had changed so he sounded like a teenage boy and he didn't have the speech impediment.  
>"My name is Felix, I'm 16 and I live in Sweden. For as long as I can remember, I've been very fascinated with the paranormal, and it seems as though I always have spirits around me, wherever I go. When I was five I had my first experience with a ghost. I lived in the countryside on a small farm with my dad, his girlfriend and her daughter, and my sister. I don't remember everything that happened there, but I do remember that the attic, where I had all my clothes, really freaked me out. One time, I went up to the attic alone, and when I stood in the doorway I saw this small figure (it was not taller than me, but it looked like an old man. Like a midget or something) standing by the window in the other end of the room. I gasped when I saw it, and then it disappeared, but I could still hear it giggling and running around in the room behind all the clothes hanging in there, I even saw some clothes moving like it was windy or something. My dad told me that whenever he was alone in that house, he would hear people running through the rooms and children's voices yelling "dad!" I'm glad I don't live there anymore. When I was ten, and had just moved to where I live now with my dad, stepmom and two brothers, I found out that my older brother John was having ghost-problems at night. He would wake up every single night to people whispering in his room, and several voices waking him up by yelling "John, wake up!" in his ear. His TV would turn on and off by itself, his lamps would also go on and off. And this happened every night; they never let him get a good night's sleep. A friend of ours brought two psychic women to our home. They said that our home was so crowded with spirits that it was even a bit hard for them to breathe. They also said that we have THREE portals (like doorswindows for spirits to come in and out of whenever they please), and one of the portals was in my brothers room. So we all went into my brothers room, lit a candle and put it on the floor, and then we stood in a circle around the candle, holding hands. One of the psychic women told us to close our eyes and imagine that we were filled with a white light that kept us safe and protected while she contacted the spirits. Then she told the spirits to leave and stuff like that, and she closed the portal. After that, almost all of the activity in that room stopped, and my brother could sleep again. About a year after that, my brother switched to another room, and I took over his room. I was scared of the room, but I wanted it anyway because it was big, and I was sleeping in a room under the attic which was only big enough to fit a bed, and it didn't have any windows or anything, so you can understand why I wanted to get a "normal" room! At first I didn't experience anything special, but then I would start getting the feeling that somebody was physically blowing in my ear. I could actually feel the sensation of someone's breath tickling my skin; almost hear the blowing-sound. This happened every week. One day when I came home from school, my books and CD's that I always kept organized in my bookshelf, were on the floor, all of them lying with the front facing the floor. Only a few books were left in the shelf, and all of them were scattered all around and out of order. The day after that, when I came home from school, my bed was made (I never made my bed in the mornings) and I first assumed it was my dad who had gone into my room and done it, but when I asked him he said that no one had been in my room that day except for me. This happened quite a few times, but it never really bothered me, because whoever did it did a good job, the bed looked nice. One afternoon when I was twelve, I was lying on my father's bed, reading a book, and my dad was in the kitchen. There was no one in the house but us. Suddenly my dad comes and looks confused, and he asks me if my brother John has come home. I said no. My dad said that he had just been standing in the kitchen doing the dishes when he heard someone moving in the hallway, so he turned around and in the doorway he saw my brother walk by and say "Hello" with a smile, and then disappear. I was really freaked out when my dad told me that, since it had just happened a minute ago, and since it really wasn't my brother. Ever since we moved into this house, every one of us has seen a black kitten running around in the hallway at night. But that really doesn't scare me. I mean, it's a little cat, it doesn't really seem to be harmful It's just playing around, minding its own business. But something that does creep me out a little is that my dogs very often seem to see something that we can't see. They very often start barking or growling for no reason, and stare at an empty doorway, or just at a wall or something. I often see shadows in the corner of my eye, it happens like every day, and sometimes I've seen objects in my house move around a little, but that doesn't really scare me that much. But I definitely think that there is something here that's trying to scare me or get my attention, because something weird is going on. Almost every night when I'm trying to go to sleep, it's like I can hear someone talking inside my head, and it's not a voice that I recognize. Sometimes (if I'm really really tired) I don't even think about how weird it is, and I answer back to the voice. But every time I answer back, I wake myself up completely with the sound of my own voice. I usually wake up to myself saying "no" or just laughing or giggling. It's really weird. But it's only made me scared once, so far, and that was when I woke up to myself screaming loudly "STOP IT!" I also never can remember what the voice has said. A few months ago, we held a séance here in my house, with a medium. She also said that our house is extremely crowded, and that we have a few portals, so many spirits come and go in our home, and that we also have quite a few spirits that are here permanently. During the séance she turned to me and said that I have someone attached to me, and that he has been blowing in my ear. I was really shocked that she knew that (he's been blowing in my ear every week for several years now, and I've never told anybody about it). She also said that he is an old man, he is related to me, and she described the way he looked and stuff like that. I didn't recognize the description, but my dad thinks that it's my great grandfather on my mother's side. But I never knew him, so I can't say for sure. Anyway, it feels nice knowing now that the man that is attached to me isn't evil and he doesn't want to scare me in any way. I still have scary things happening to me sometimes (and my stepmom, who has the gift of seeing and communicating with spirits, she says that she sees things every day, and my brother John does too.) About a year ago I started having really strange and scary dreams. What scared me the most about them was that they were different from normal dreams, they did not seem surreal in any way, and every detail in them was as real as it is in real life. The dream that scared me the most was the one where I dreamt that me and my family were being haunted by something demonic. In the dream we were in our house, and we could hear really loud and heavy breathing echoing throughout the entire house, and outside our windows there were these regular power-lines, but they were really close to our windows and in the lines there were dead children hanging from regular metal hangers in the power lines, and all the children had had their lower body chopped off, and they were all bald, and they were smiling and we could hear them laughing even thought their lips weren't moving. All of us inside the house could just here the breathing closing in on us, and we could just feel the evil in the air, and we all were scared to death. I have had several dreams like this one, and they always include chopped off body parts and strange ghost voices. It is really freaking me out. This past few months, I have heard strange noises when I'm trying to sleep, and a while ago (this was in the middle of the night, I was in my room, using the computer) I had my headphones on my head, connected to the computer, but I wasn't playing any music at the moment. Suddenly I heard this really loud, super creepy, very evil laughter in my headphones. I checked the computer to see if anything had popped up on the screen or something like that, but there was nothing. That really scared me, and I did not go to bed that night. Actually, just last night something strange happened. I was once again the only one awake and I was in my room, using the computer. And all of a sudden I heard music, coming from nowhere. It sounded like classical music, very soft and very slow. I thought it was just in my head at first, but then I realized that I really could hear it with my ears. So I turned on the speakers on my computer, no sound coming from there. I opened my window and listened, nothing coming from outside either. I opened my bedroom door, and the house was quiet. But when I closed my door the music was still here. I couldn't find out where it was coming from. And after five minutes or so, it stopped. It was very strange."

**(A.N. ...Yeah, I'm starting to get a bit lazy about the reactions... -shot- I will continue to update this story, but I am going to shift my focus onto my historical story (The Christmas Truces and Other Military Disasters). So I'm probably going to be updating only once or twice a week. I might pick up the pace sooner or later, but like I said...)**


	26. Greece

**(A.N. Here's Greece telling his stories about his particular brand of vampire and a ghost in Sparta for an anonymous reviewer. You know who you are, 'cause I don't! :) After this, I'm going to be doing another vampire story from Romania for Myrna Maeve and some old Norse mythology starring the nordic 5. I am now open to requests for a second round of stories from the countries I've already done, as well as cities, states, or provinces. Review, my lovelies~ Muahahahaha -shot-)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply

Greece woke up from his nap, yawned, and started to talk before anyone else could get a chance to. "I have more than just ghost stories. My people have recorded vampire stories as well as ghost ones. The Riviotis Cemetery in Sparta has one such story. Here, the ghost of a mad butcher named Ioanis Koukoutsis is said to haunt the spot. In life, he had gone mad, taken home his favourite cleaver, and decapitated his sleeping wife. He now strolls the grounds "after twelve", but in Greece we believe that supernatural phenomena are most active at high noon rather than between midnight and three in the morning, so it's generally not a good idea to go sightseeing. My vampires are generally more exciting. On one occasion in Crete, a man of some note was buried at St. George's Church at Kalikrati, in the island of Crete. An arch or canopy was built over his grave. But he soon afterwards made his appearance as a vampire, haunting the village, and destroying men and children. A shepherd was one day tending his sheep and goats near the church, and on being caught in a shower, went under the arch to seek shelter from the rain. He determined to pass the night there, laid aside his arms, and stretched himself on a stone to sleep. In placing his fire-arms down (gentle shepherds of pastoral poems do not want firearms; but the Cretans are not gentle shepherds), he happened to cross them. Now this crossing was always believed to have the effect of preventing a vampire from emerging from the spot where the emblem was found. Thereupon occurred a singular debate. The vampire rose in the night, and requested the shepherd to remove the firearms in order that he might pass, as he had some important business to transact. The shepherd, inferring from this request that the corpse was the identical vampire which had been doing so much mischief, at first refused his assent; but on obtaining from the vampire a promise on oath that he would not hurt him, the shepherd moved the crossed arms. The vampire, thus enabled to rise, went to a distance of about two miles, and killed two persons, a man and a woman. On his return, the shepherd saw some indication of what had occurred, which caused the vampire to threaten him with a similar fate if he divulged what he had seen. He courageously told all, however. The priests and other persons came to the spot next morning, took up the corpse (which in daytime was as lifeless as any other) and burnt it. While burning, a little spot of blood spurted on the shepherd's foot, which instantly withered away; but otherwise no evil resulted, and the vampire was effectually destroyed. This was certainly a very peculiar vampire story; for the coolness with which the corpse and the shepherd carried on their conversation under the arch was unique enough. Nevertheless, the individual who reported this peculiar tale was convinced of its truth."


	27. Romania 2 feat America

**(A.N. So, like I promised, here's Romania: Round two (with Twilight bashing)! Sorry I didn't update Monday or Wednesday, blame my crazy Geometry and Physics teachers... Anyway, after this I'm going to put up some old Norse legends starring the Nordic 5. As always, if nobody requests a country, I won't update. That doesn't mean that I'll give up on the story, it'll just be put off until someone **_**does**_** request one.)****  
><strong>Standard Disclaimers Apply

"You call that a vampire story? Those 'vampires' didn't even _act_ like real ones!" a loud voice called out, indignant. "Why do you say that, America?" came the sleepy reply. "They couldn't go out during the day because they would burn, they weren't pretty, and they didn't sparkle." Without warning, Romania stood up, crossed across the circle so he was standing in front of America, and banged his head the floor. "Vampires do _not_ sparkle! Honestly, America. Just because some author has created some crappy vampire that everyone under twelve has fallen for does _not_, repeat _not_ mean that it's true! You of all people would know that, just look at New Orleans!" Everyone, including America and France looked at Romania funny. "There aren't vampires in New Orleans! ...Well, unless you count the Carter brothers. And Jacques Saint-Germain. And those creepy girls you brought over, France. But really-" "Shut up and tell us, America. Who were the Carter brothers?" someone asked.

"John and Wayne Carter were a pair of brothers who moved to the 800 block of Royal Street in New Orleans in the 1930s." America said dismissively. "I don't see what's so special about that."  
>As one, the other countries turned to look at Romania, as if to say 'Well?' He replied "They led a seemingly normal life, but that facade of normalcy was shattered one day in 1932 when a young girl stumbles out of the door and runs down the street screaming bloody murder. She makes it to the police station and tells her story to the officer there. she had been held captive by the Carters, who slit her wrists and drank her blood daily. When the girl returned to the house with four police officers, they found four other victims: one man, a young boy, and a nine-year-old girl; all barely alive except, unfortunately, the girl. Along the back wall were rows of corpses, stacked on top of one another. The now-infamous Carter brothers were tried, convicted, and executed via an early electric chair for the murder of twelve men, women, and children. They were buried in St. Louis Cemetery, but New Orleans cemeteries are different from ordinary ones. For one, they're above-ground; the tombs are used over and over; and the bodies are only in the tombs for one year before the grave is used again. Due to the hot summers (A.N. It gets up to 104 F on a really hot day! :P) and the way the tombs are created, after a year the body has decomposed completely. But after a year, the Carters' tomb was opened for another funeral and there was absolutely nothing in there, like it hadn't been used. Normally, there is some dust or some kind of remains left over that are swept to the back of the tomb, but in the Carter brothers' case there was absolutely nothing. Furthermore, the brothers have been seen since. There has been at least three separate sightings of two men loitering inside their former house (now owned by another family) and when they are shown the old mug shots of the brothers, the men are identified as the Carters. They may have passed their bloodlust on to one of their victims as well. In legend, if you have been fed on by a vampire seven times you will become one yourself. So, what happens if you've been fed on twice more for extra credit? The man who survived had been fed upon nine separate times and after spending some time in an asylum moved back to New Orleans where he lived a seemingly quiet life until one day in 1949 when he disappeared. When his house was turned into apartments in the 60s, his diary was found filled with entries entailing the murder of several dozen victims, each drained of all blood and each dumped into the swamps of the surrounding Louisiana countryside."<br>"But what about the man you mentioned, Jacques somebody?" Japan asked, taking notes for an upcoming movie.  
>"He's a bit of a mystery, actually. Jacques Saint Germain was the descendent of the Comte d' Saint Germain, who was in the court of King Louis XV of France. The Comte was an alchemist and claimed to have discovered the Elixir of Life and to have been over 6,000 years old. As far as I know, he moved to Germany after a while and died. Jacques moved to New Orleans in 1903 and quickly gained the reputation of being a womanizer. Despite his reputation, all was well until one of the girls he brought home with him ran out of one of the second story windows (a 20 foot drop) and died of complications from two shattered legs. Jacques hasn't been seen since and is presumed dead. His house was never sold, but continues to have the necessary taxes paid on it, and nobody in living memory knows who lives there." America said, a puzzled look on his face. Once more, everyone looked at Romania for any elaboration and he didn't disappoint.<br>"The girl didn't just decide to have post-sex suicide. She had been amazed with the contents of his opulent home, especially the marble mantelpiece in the drawing room. The unfortunate girl had laid her cheek on the surface and had been attacked from behind by Jacques, who reportedly bit her neck. In her fright, she elbowed him in the gut and proceeded to run out the window, wrongly thinking that she could escape via a balcony. When police came to investigate, they found rugs randomly laid on the floor with no pattern or obvious purpose. All that changed when they lifted the rugs and discovered rather large bloodstains underneath that the rugs had been covering. Also, they found bottles of red wine mixed with human blood in the cellar, bottled and set aside for later."  
>"And what was the problem with the girls I sent over, Alfred?" France asked, his head tilted in curiosity. "As I remember, they were nuns to educate the settlers."<br>America rolled his eyes. "The nuns were fine; it's the girls _after_ them that were the stuff of legend. The odds weren't good if you were living in New Orleans in the 1740s. First off, the settlers were French convicted criminals that had married prostitutes and were sent over to populate the new colony. Secondly, there were five guys to every one girl. With a population ratio like that, your people die faster than they're born. _And_, they were nuttily superstitious. Those girls didn't help, France. Every single one of 'em (300 total) brought a coffin with them and the death rate doubled once they arrived! That didn't exactly help morale, ya know." France looked a bit sheepish and Romania picked up the story from there. "Once the women arrived, their ...interesting luggage was sealed in the third floor of the Ursuline Convent chapel and the outside windows were boarded up on the outside by pine boards and nailed in with 800 blessed nails. The people of New Orleans think it's overkill, but to this day nobody knows what's in those coffins the church doesn't want us to see? Why did the death rate double _after_ the 'Casket Girls' came? What opens the shutters on the third floor every night? Why are they closed again every morning when supposedly nothing's up there to open _or_ close them? The people have been asking for _years_, but the church isn't saying a thing. But let's fast forward to 1978, that's the good year~" he said with a grin. "In 1978, a paranormal investigation unit from Massachusetts came to try and find out what was going on. They had three members come over with two interns and did some research before settling on the LaLaurie mansion to check out, leaving the interns behind because they didn't have enough experience to come along. The two girls got bored fairly quickly and decided to stake out the convent to see if they could get the shutters opening and whatever was opening them on tape. They left their hotel around 10:00 PM with a camera and tripod, which they set up across the street and trained on the third floor windows. At about three in the morning, the investigators come back to the hotel room, finding it empty and no clue to the whereabouts of their companions. They call the police, but are told that their hotel is two blocks from Bourbon Street (one of the biggest streets in New Orleans; also the one with the most bars) and if the two don't show up in 48 hours, they should call back. At seven in the morning, the bodies of the two interns are found almost posing on the steps of the Ursuline Convent. They are both dead, with 80% of their blood missing, and nothing has replaced it. That is a medical impossibility. If a murderer were to kidnap someone, slit their throat, attach pipes to all their major arteries, and pump out the blood, it would be a miracle if there was even 60% gone. The heart has valves to pump the blood, and once it stops beating they become a barrier and virtually no blood can pass through. Furthermore, when their tape was examined later, the shot is steady thanks to the tripod but at around four in the morning it shakes and the camera (along with the tripod) is picked up and thrown a few feet down the road. There was no sign of a struggle from the girls, and the coroner went so far as to say that the makeup on their faces had not been smudged in the whole ordeal. Their murders remain a mystery and there are no suspects or leads to who may be the killer. But, New Orleans _is_ the vampire capital of America." Alfred cut in. "Don't you mean the _murder_ capital of America?" Romania shrugged. "Well, that too."

**(A.N. Whenever I type 'companion' I think of Doctor Who XD Yep, all the stories are true :3 There's a really nice series on YouTube about the occult side of the city, just type in Haunted New Orleans and it should come up. I might do an omake about the LaLaurie mansion if anybody wants me to, it's extremely haunted as well. While we're on the subject, I have anonymous reviews enabled for a reason, people! Next week, I'll upload the Norse mythology, but after that, you have to tell me who to write a story on. Otherwise, vote on whoever you think is the scariest and I'll post the results. Happy Friday, everyone! If there's anybody in the South Bend area, come to the football game at seven at Washington. I'm the yearbook photographer for Penn (Washington's opponent)!)**


	28. Nordic 5

**(A.N. Ok, here's some old legends told by the Nordic 5. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, but I would like to say that this story is for just countries to be requested. I will start a separate story with just states, provinces, cities, etc. after I am done with this one. That being said, if you would like to see another story from (for example) England and you've heard a really good one about Manchester, let me know and I'll put it in, but it'll be England telling it rather than a personified Manchester. Anyway, The-Psycho-The-Scared-The-Brit requested Ukraine and Latvia and cutekittenlady requested Scotland, so I'll be getting to those later on.)**  
>Standard Disclaimers-oh, you know the drill by now<p>

Denmark stood up and announced what every high school student in the United States have been thinking: "Shakespeare makes me sick!" Everybody looked at him funny, especially England, who had been rather fond of the poet. "He stole Amleth's story, watered it down, and called it a tragedy. It was fine as it was!" Realizing what he was talking about, England stood up as well to defend his playwright. "That story had little artistic value, as well as being graphic and unnecessarily detailed. It is much better as the Hamlet we know and love today!" (A.N. Yep, Shakespeare's Hamlet really came from Denmark! Personally, I like Matthias' version better.) At this, America snorted with laughter. "Are you kidding, Artie? Hamlet was the boringest of the bunch!" As England and America squabbled over the value of Shakespeare, Denmark told his side of the story, Amleth's Revenge.  
>Feng murdered his brother, the King of Denmark, and married the queen to secure the legitimacy of his rule. Amleth, the son of the murdered king, felt that his rightful inheritance was threatened and sought to disguise the fact while he undertook his revenge. He decided to behave like a witless fool in order to deceive all observers, rolling in dirt or uttering nonsensical phrases to the extent that he came to appear a wretched, filthy and grotesque figure, more deserving of pity than fear. While he did so, he claimed to be "making spearheads for my father's revenge," hardening wooden hooks in a fire. Unfortunately for Amleth, the methodical nature of his madness caused some to become suspicious that he was merely feigning insanity and sought to demonstrate that he hid his intelligence behind a witless façade. They struck upon the notion that the embrace of a beautiful woman would somehow cause him to lose all guile and to this end, they dispatched men to ride into the forest with Amleth in tow.<p>

Unfortunately for the counter-schemers, a foster-brother of Amleth's warned him against the danger as he loved Amleth very dearly and realised that he would surely be killed if the king felt there was any danger to his rule. Noting this, Amleth behaved more eccentrically, mounting his horse backwards and eschewing use of its reigns in favour of its tail. When his grim escort happened upon the rudder of a wrecked ship they remarked what a huge knife they had found. Amleth responded by saying "that is for carving the biggest ham with." Emboldened by his seeming-foolery, they convinced themselves that they make Amleth believe that the sand was flour. He indulged them and answered that it surely had been "ground by the surf." When they praised him for his reply, he responded by saying that he had "indeed spoken shrewdly." At all times he kept them off guard with his riddles.

They left him to himself so that he might gain more courage to approach the designated woman, who came to meet him. Having been forewarned, he took the woman in his arms to a remote and impassable fen, where he lay with her and pleaded with her not to reveal the fact to his suspicious companions. She agreed, as they had also been foster kin and very amicable. When his companions (ostensibly) jestingly asked him whether he had lain with her, he responded in the affirmative. Taken aback, they went to the woman and asked her the same thing - she, true to her word, responded in the negative. Bewildered, the conspirators pondered what to do about the cryptic young man. One of Feng's friends advised him that Amleth was too clever to be so easily deceived and said that he would be willing to spy on an otherwise-private discourse between Amleth and his mother. Feng approved and pretended to embark on a lengthy journey - the devious advisor hid under a pile of straw in the Queen's chamber.

All seemed to be set to deceive Amleth, but the young man was once again too alert and immediately reverted to folly once he suspected the presence of an intruder. Feeling something under the straw, he stabbed at it and struck the eavesdropper, who he dragged from his place of concealment and slew. Having done so, he cut the body into pieces and boiled them before flinging them into a gutter to be fed to pigs. When his mother lamented her son's madness, he turned on her and accused her of betraying her previous husband, adultery, incest and all manner of other deprave things. "Better to behave foolishly than to display one's wits, and so to save one's life by posing madness and frenzy. I will bide my time." He urged her to renounce Feng and remain silent, grieving for her shame rather than her son's madness.

Feng returned and began asking after the missing advisor. Hamlet told him the bare truth - that he had been devoured by pigs - but all listeners found this to be absurd and refused to believe it. Nonetheless, Feng feared that Amleth was still a danger and, fearful of potential reprisals against himself and his wife by his uncle, Rurik, should he directly harm the boy, sent him to England with an order for his execution carried by two retainers. Prior to his departure, he told his mother to hang the main hall with woven tapestries and to falsely hold his funeral one year from that day. Amleth was wilier still, though, and changed the message in order that it appeared that the two retainers were to be executed. Additionally, he wrote that the King of Denmark requested that the king's daughter be betrothed to Amleth.

The King of England betrayed no surprise at the requests and invited the three men to a banquet laden with sumptuous food. Amleth, however, angrily cast aside the table, scattering the food. Later that night, the king instructed one of his companions to spy on the newcomers' conversation. He heard Amleth remark that the bread had been saturated with blood, the meat had stunk of corpses and the liquor tainted with a metallic taste. Surely enough, when the king investigated the matter he discovered that the flour used to make the bread had come from a field where men were executed, that the pork had come from a pig which escaped and ate the corpse of a thief and the mead had been brewed using water tainted by several rusted swords. The king was impressed by Amleth's astuteness, but figured that the boy had been insinuating that he was of common birth in remarking that "the king had the eyes of a slave and the queen had exhibited three acts of a servant." The king went to his mother and pressed her to tell him who his father truly was and to his surprise, she revealed that he was the son of a slave. Amleth divulged to him the three servile acts the queen had performed - firstly she had drawn her mantle over her head, secondly she had lifted her gown while walking and thirdly she picked her teeth with a splinter. The king was so awed that he immediately gave him the hand of his daughter, executed his companions and even gave Amleth a sizeable pouch of gold as blood money when the young man reacted indignantly to the execution; Amleth melted the gold and poured it into two hollow sticks.

Amleth remained with the king for a year, but departed with only the gold-filled sticks. He came ashore in Jutland and burst into the hall in the midst of his own funeral celebration, sparking alarm at first - this turned to mirth, however, when they inquired as to the whereabouts of his companions. To this, Amleth presented the gold-filled sticks and said "they are here." Pretending nothing was amiss, he invited everyone to continue the ceremony, plying them with liquor to increase their merriment. When Amleth began idly playing with his sword, the nobles forced a pin through the scabbard and blade out of concern as Amleth kept injuring his fingers.

When the noblemen began staggering around, vomiting and nauseous in the main hall, he cut the tapestries from the walls and used the 'spearheads' he had made over a year ago to fasten them so that the nobles were unable to move. He then set the royal palace alight, burning it to the ground. Then he sought out Feng. Feng was fast asleep, having been conducted to his bed by his soldiers. Amleth replaced Feng's sword with his own and, rousing his uncle, told him that the nobles were perishing in the flames and that Amleth was coming to seek vengeance for his father's murder. Feng sprang from his bed, but was cut down as he vainly tried to draw the sword from its scabbard; thus did Amleth employ his guile, courage and intellect to avenge his murdered father.

"So, is that the best story, or is that the best story?" Matthias concluded, a smug look on his face. Gently, Sweden pulled his fellow Nordic back down to a sitting position. "It isn't." Immediately, the Dane was defending his story, which was admittedly more exciting than Shakespeare's version. "What've you got that's better?" Sweden replied with his legend of the Skogsra, a spirit living in the forest.

Let us make haste now to Sweden and enter its forests. Let us also go back in time, though not really so far, a mere one or two hundred years will suffice. It's peaceful here with the trees, the air so clean and pure, the sky high above a blue or a gray — and the silence deep, profound, too deep now, you see we've been out for days, on a hunt or to burn charcoal, and the silence has become so intense that it seems we don't even hear the sounds of our own actions. We know we are safe from the trolls, for while there are probably a large band of them on the other side of the mountain, never has it been said that there are any near here. But the skogsra, ah, we must always be on the alert for the skogsra.

Just as the sjora are water spirits, inhabiting streams and lakes and having considerable influence there, the skogsra are forest spirits, each with her own locale. They are best known for leading men astray. All who have seen one report that she has the appearance of a beautiful woman when seen from in front; from behind she looks like a hollow tree trunk. Often she is combing her hair, and sometimes she has a tail. Notably unpredictable, these folklore babes seem as easily to bestow good fortune as trouble. If one is favored by a skogsra one may enjoy a good hunt. On the other hand, when your cow or hunting dog goes missing, or you lose your way in the forest, there are surely supernatural powers at work.

We'll look at one of the many stories and legends about the skogsra:

There was a married man. Once when he was out looking for some cattle he met the skogsra. Unable to withstand the temptation, he went with her and he was with her every evening after that. Before long it began to be too much for him, very draining, but he could never resist her. He'd never seen her from behind. Eventually it got to be too much for him; the poor man became so sated and limp that he could hardly walk. He didn't know what to do. So one time he went to the skogsra and asked her what he ought to do about a little bull he said he had. He told her that the little bull was such a problem; he never did anything but mount the cows and he just wouldn't stop, so that by now the animal was completely wiped out. Tibast, she said, and vandelrot would do the trick. (Tibast, or _Daphne mezereum_ — February Daphne; and vandelrot, or _Valeriana officinalis_ — Valerian root, are the herbs told in this Southern form of the legend. Other local herbs are told in the Northern versions.) So he got some tibast and vandelrot and pinned it to himself and went that evening to meet her. As soon as she saw him she said, "Tibast and vandelrot is sure; fie on me for telling the cure!" And with that she turned around, so that he saw her from behind, and thus she disappeared.

The man in this legend narrowly escapes an obscure doom, and this is the tone of many such legends. The skogsra, even when treating one well, have evil, disruptive intentions, and their very presence fills one with foreboding. Quite a bit of this folklore offers advice on how to avoid, conquer or escape from these situations and influences — much as contemporary urban legends do in our time — playing upon the temptations, fears and fantasies of those who hear the tales, or tell them.

So you may return home now and to present time — have a safe journey! For my part, I seem to be feeling an irresistible urge to stay here in the forest awhile, and dally with one of these skogsra.

"That's a better story, but I've got a better one than that." Norway boasted.

Once on a time in the days of old there lived a poor old couple, tenants of a small farm up in Vaage in the Gudbrandsdale. They had many children, and two of the sons who were about half grown up had to be always roaming about the country begging. They were well acquainted with all the highways and byways, and they also knew the short cut to Hedale.

It happened once that they wanted to go there, but at the same time they heard that some falconers had built themselves a hut at Maela, and so they wished to see the birds and how they are caught, and so they took the cut across Longmoors. But you must know it was far on towards autumn, and so the dairy-maids had all gone home from the dairies in the mountains, and they could find neither shelter nor food anywhere. Then they had to press on to Hedale, but the path was a mere track, and when night fell they lost it. And, worse still, they could not find the falconers' hut either, and before they knew where they were, they found themselves in the very depths of the forest. As soon as they saw they could not get on, they began to break boughs, lit a fire, and built themselves a bower of branches, for they had a hand-axe with them; and, after that, they plucked heather and moss and made themselves a bed. So a little while after they had lain down, they heard something which sniffed and snuffed very loudly through its nose. Then the boys pricked up their ears and listened sharp to hear whether it were wild beasts or wood trolls, and just then something snuffed up the air louder than ever, and said,

"I smell human blood about here!"

At the same time they heard such a heavy footfall that the earth shook under it, and then they knew well enough the trolls must be about.

"Heaven help us! What shall we do?" said the younger boy to his brother.

"Oh! You must stand as you are under the fir, and be ready to take our bags and run away when you see them coming. As for me, I will take the hand-axe," said the other.

All at once they saw the trolls coming at them like mad, and they were so tall and stout, their heads were just as high as the fir-tops; but it was a good thing they had only one eye between them all three, and that they used turn and turn about. They had a hole in their foreheads into which they put it, and turned and twisted it with their hands. The one that went first must have it to see his way, and the others went behind and took hold of the first.

"Take up the traps," said the elder of the boys, "but don't run away too far, but see how things go: As they carry their eye so high aloft they'll find it hard to see me when I get behind them."

Well, the brother ran before and the trolls after him, meanwhile the elder got behind them and chopped the hindmost troll with his axe on the ankle, so that the troll gave an awful shriek, and the foremost troll got so afraid he was all of a shake and dropped the eye. The boy was not slow to snap it up. It was bigger than two quart pots put together, and so clear and bright, that though it was pitch dark, everything was as clear as day as soon as he looked through it.

When the trolls realised that he had taken their eye and done one of them harm, they began to threaten him with all the evil in the world if he didn't give back the eye at once.

"I don't care a farthing for trolls and threats," said the boy, "now I've got three eyes to myself and you three have got none, and besides two of you have to carry the third."

"If we don't get our eye back this minute, you shall be both turned to stocks and stones," screeched the trolls.

But the boy thought things needn't go so fast; he was not afraid for witchcraft or hard words. If they didn't leave him alone he'd chop them all three, so that they would have to creep and crawl along the earth like cripples and crabs.

When the trolls heard that, they got still more afraid, and began to use soft words. They begged him very prettily to give them their eye back again, and in return he should have both gold and silver and everything he wished to ask. Well, that seemed all very fine to the lad, but he must have the gold and silver first, and so he said if one of them would go home and fetch as much gold and silver as would fill his and his brother's bags, and give them two good cross-bows beside, they might have their eye, but he should keep it till they did what he said.

The trolls were very put out, and said none of them could go when he hadn't his eye to see with; but all at once one of them began to bawl for their old woman; for you must know they had a goody between them all three as well as an eye. After a while an answer came from a knoll a long way off to the north. So the trolls said she must come with two steel cross-bows and two buckets full of gold and silver; and then it was not Iong, you may fancy, before she was there. And when she heard what had happened, she too began to threaten them with witchcraft. But the trolls got so afraid, and urged her beware of the little wasp, for they couldn't be sure he would not take away her eye too. So she threw down the cross-bows and the buckets and the gold and the silver and strode off to the knoll with the trolls; and since that time no one has ever heard that the trolls have walked in Hedale Wood sniffing for human blood.

Iceland snorted. "That's nothing." he said.

Once upon a time there was a student at the Seminary at Hólar. His name was Loftur; he practised sorcery, and tried to interest others in that practise.  
>Loftur kept at his sorcery studies until he had learned everything contained in Gráskinna (Greycover). Then he sought to gain more arcane knowledge<br>from other sorcerers, but nobody knew more than he did. Early one winter Loftur talked to a schoolmate, who was considered to be brave, and asked him to help in resurrecting the ancient bishops. The student did not want to do this, but Loftur told him that otherwise he would be killed.  
>The student asked Loftur how he might help, as he knew no sorcery. Loftur replied that he was simply to stand in the belfry and hold the bell rope. He was not to move at all, but to was to watch Loftur and ring the bell as soon as he saw Loftur's hand signal.<br>Loftur wanted to do this, because: "those who have studied sorcery as I have done, can only use it for evil, and they will perish, whenever they die; but if one knows enough, the Devil no longer has power over the human, but must serve him, without getting anything in return, and anyone who knows this much, can use his knowledge as he pleases. This knowledge is hard to come by nowadays, since The Black School was closed, and Bishop Gottskalk the Evil had Rauðskinna (Redcover) buried with him, which is why I plan to resurrect him and obtain the book from him with sorcery."  
>Just after bedtime they went to the church, in moonlight, and the student stopped in the belfry but<br>Loftur mounted the pulpit and started chanting. The ancient bishops arose from their graves, one after another, and some begged him to stop, but Loftur continued. Three of them were wearing crowns, the first, the one in the middle, and the last one. But Gottskalk stayed put, and Loftur started chanting as never before, he turned the Psalms to praise of the Devil and confessed to all his good deeds. The three crowned bishops stood as far away as possible and faced Loftur with their hands raised, but the other bishops looked at them and away from Loftur. Then a heavy noise was heard, and a man arose with a staff in his left hand and a red book under the right one.  
>He did not have a crucifix on his chest, and looked unkindly at the other bishops, but leered at Loftur, who chanted all the more. Gottskalk moved an inch closer and said derisively: "Well chanted, my son, and better than I expected, but you will not obtain my Rauðskinna." Loftur seemed to turn inside out and chanted like he had never done before. He turned The Blessing and The Lord's Prayer to praise the Devil, and the church shook and was like a straw in the wind.<br>The student thought he saw Gottskalk move closer to Loftur and thrust a corner of the book towards Loftur; he had been frightened, but now he shook with terror, he thought the bishop lifted the book and that Loftur stretched out his hand, and he pulled the bell rope, and everything  
>vanished into the floor with a whispering sound. Loftur stood for awhile in the pulpit, then staggered down and found his companion, and said:<br>"Now the worst has come to pass. I could have waited for the dawn, the bishop would then have let go of the book, but he overcame me in our encounter, and he made me so frenzied that if  
>I had chanted one stave more the church would have sunk, and that was what he wanted. But I noticed the faces of the crowned bishops and became startled, but knew that you would faint by the bell rope and the bell ring, but the book was so close, I thought I could reach it, and indeed<br>I touched a corner and only lacked a good grip to hold it. But things must be as they are, and my welfare is doomed."  
>Loftur then was sure he would die on a certain Sunday, but his friends advised him to flee to the priest at Staðastaður, who was very religious and had helped people in trouble. Loftur stayed there until that Sunday arrived. The priest had to leave home to give the last rites to an old friend, but Loftur felt so sick that he could not accompany the priest, and stayed at home. As soon as the priest had left, Loftur became better and walked to the next farm and got the farmer there to float a small boat, and they went fishing. There was no wind that day, but the boat has never been seen since. A man thought he had seen a grey furry hand rise from the sea, when the boat had just gotten afloat, and grab the stern where Loftur was sitting and pull everything under.<br>As Iceland sat, certain that his stories would be the best, Sweden spoke up again. "My wife has a story and you will listen to him." Finland blushed, saying "I'm not your wife..." but told his story anyway.  
>Once there was a farmer with two sons. One morning he said to them, "Boys, you're old enough now to marry. But in our family, we have our own way to choose a bride."<p>

The younger son listened respectfully, but the older one said, "You've told us, Father. We must each cut down a tree and see where it points."

"That's right," said the farmer. "Then walk that way till you find a sweetheart. That's how we've done it, and that's how we always will."

Now, the older son already knew who he wanted to marry. He also knew how to cut a tree so it fell how he wanted. So, his tree fell and pointed to the farm where his sweetheart lived.

The younger son, whose name was Mikko, didn't have a sweetheart, but he thought he'd try his luck in the town. Well, maybe he cut the tree wrong, or maybe it had thoughts of its own, but it fell pointing to the forest.

"Good job, Mikko!" his brother mocked. "What sweetheart will you find there? A wolf or a fox?"

"Never mind," said Mikko. "I'll find who I find."

The two young men went their ways. Mikko walked through the forest for hours without seeing a soul. But at last he came to a cottage deep in the woods.

"I knew I'd find a sweetheart!" said Mikko. But when he went inside, he saw no one.

"All this way for nothing," he said sadly.

"Maybe not!" came a tiny voice.

Mikko looked around, but the only living thing in sight was a little mouse on a table. Standing on its hind legs, it gazed at him with large, bright eyes.

"Did you say something?" he asked it.

"Of course I did! Now, why don't you tell me your name and what you came for?"

Mikko had never talked with a mouse, but he felt it only polite to reply. "My name is Mikko, and I've come looking for a sweetheart."

The mouse squealed in delight. "Why, Mikko, I'll gladly be your sweetheart!"

"But you're only a mouse," said Mikko.

"That may be true," she said, "but I can still love you faithfully. Besides, even a mouse can be special! Come feel my fur."

With one finger, Mikko stroked the mouse's back. "Why, it feels like velvet! Just like the gown of a princess!"

"That's right, Mikko." And as he petted her, she sang to him prettily.

"Mikko's sweetheart will I be.

What a fine young man is he!

Gown of velvet I do wear,

Like a princess fine and rare."

Mikko looked into those large, bright eyes and thought she really was quite nice, for a mouse. And since he'd found no one else anyway, he said, "All right, little mouse, you can be my sweetheart."

"Oh, Mikko!" she said happily. "I promise you won't be sorry."

Mikko wasn't so sure, but he just stroked her fur and smiled.

When Mikko got home, his brother was already there boasting to their father. "My sweetheart has rosy red cheeks and long golden hair."

"Sounds very nice," said the farmer. "And what about yours, Mikko?"

"Yes, Mikko," said his brother, laughing. "Did you find a sweetheart with a nice fur coat?"

Now, Mikko didn't want to admit his sweetheart was a mouse. So he said, "Mine wears a velvet gown, like a princess!"

His brother stopped laughing.

"Well!" said the farmer. "It sounds like Mikko's tree pointed a good way too! But now I must test both your sweethearts. Tomorrow you'll ask them to weave you some cloth, then you'll bring it home to me. That's how we've done it, and that's how we always will."

They started out early next morning. When Mikko reached the cottage in the woods, there was the little mouse on the table. She jumped up and down and clapped her tiny paws.

"Oh, Mikko, I'm so glad you're here! Is this the day of our wedding?"

Mikko gently stroked her fur. "Not yet, little mouse," he said glumly.

"Why, Mikko, you look so sad! What's wrong?"

"My father wants you to weave some cloth. But how can you do that? You're only a mouse!"

"That may be true," she said, "but I'm also your sweetheart, and surely Mikko's sweetheart can weave! But you must be tired from your walk. Why don't you rest while I work?"

"All right," said Mikko, yawning. He lay down on a bed in the corner, and the little mouse sang him a pretty lullaby.

"Mikko's sweetheart will I be.

What a fine young man is he!

Cloth of linen I will weave.

I'll be done when he must leave."

When the little mouse was sure that Mikko was asleep, she picked up a sleigh bell on a cord and rang it. Out of mouseholes all around the room poured hundreds of mice. They all stood before the table, gazing up at her.

"Hurry!" she said. "Each of you, fetch a strand of the finest flax."

The mice rushed from the cottage—then one, two, three, and back they were, each with a strand of flax.

First they spun it into yarn on the spinning wheel. _Whirr. Whirr. Whirr._ Some worked the pedal, some fed the flax, some rode around with the wheel.

Then they strung the yarn on the loom and wove it into cloth. _Swish. Thunk. Swish. Thunk. Swish. Thunk._ Some worked the pedals, some rocked the beater, some sailed the shuttle back and forth.

At last they cut the cloth from the loom and tucked it in a nutshell.

"Now, off with you!" said the little mouse, and they all scampered back to their mouseholes. Then she called, "Mikko, wake up! It's time to go home! And here is something for your father."

Mikko sleepily took the nutshell. He didn't know why his father should want such a thing, but he said, "Thank you, little mouse."

When he got home, his brother was proudly presenting the cloth from his sweetheart. The farmer looked it over and said, "Strong and fairly even. Good enough for simple folks like us. And where is yours, Mikko?"

Mikko blushed and handed him the nutshell.

"Look at that!" said his brother. "Mikko asked for cloth, and his sweetheart gave him a nut!"

But the farmer opened the nutshell and peered inside. Then he pinched at something and started to pull. Out came linen, fine beyond belief. It kept coming too, yard after yard after yard.

Mikko's brother gaped with open mouth, and Mikko did too!

"There can be no better weaver than Mikko's sweetheart!" declared the farmer. "But both your sweethearts will do just fine. Tomorrow you'll bring them home for the wedding. That's how we've done it, and that's how we always will."

When Mikko arrived at the cottage next morning, the little mouse again jumped up and down. "Oh, Mikko, is this the day of our wedding?"

"It is, little mouse." But he sounded more glum than ever.

"Why, Mikko, what's wrong?"

"How can I bring home a mouse to marry? My brother and father and all our friends and neighbors will laugh and think I'm a fool!"

"_They_ might think so, indeed," she said softly. "But, Mikko, what do _you_ think?"

Mikko looked at the little mouse, gazing at him so seriously with her large, bright eyes. He thought about how she loved him and cared for him.

"I think you're as sweet as any sweetheart could be. So let them laugh and think what they like. Today you'll be my bride."

"Oh, Mikko, you've made me the happiest mouse in the world!"

She rang her sleigh bell, and to Mikko's astonishment, a little carriage raced into the room. It was made from a nutshell and pulled by four black rats. A mouse coachman sat in front, and a mouse footman behind.

"Mikko," said the little mouse, "aren't you going to help me down?"

Mikko lifted her from the table and set her in the carriage. The rats took off and the carriage sped from the cottage, so that Mikko had to rush to catch up.

While he hurried along behind her, the little mouse sang a pretty song.

"Mikko's sweetheart will I be.

What a fine young man is he!

In a carriage I will ride

When I go to be his bride."

At last they reached the farm and then the spot for the wedding, on the bank of a lovely, swift-flowing stream. The guests were already there enjoying themselves. But as Mikko came up, they all grew silent and stared at the little carriage.

Mikko's brother stood with his bride, gaping in disbelief. Mikko and the little mouse went up to him.

"That's the stupidest thing I ever saw," said his brother, and with one quick kick, sent the carriage, the rats, and the mice, all into the stream. Before Mikko could do a thing, the current bore them away.

"What have you done!" cried Mikko. "You've killed my sweetheart!"

"Are you crazy?" said his brother. "That was only a mouse!"

"She may have been a mouse," said Mikko tearfully, "but she was also my sweetheart, and I really did love her!"

He was about to swing at his brother, when his father called, "Mikko, look!"

All the guests were staring downstream and pointing and crying out in wonder. Mikko turned and to his amazement saw four black horses pulling a carriage out of the stream. A coachman sat in front and a footman behind, and inside was a soaked but lovely princess in a gown of pearly velvet.

The carriage rode up along the bank and stopped right before him. "Mikko," said the princess, "aren't you going to help me down?"

Mikko stared blankly a moment, and then his eyes flew wide. "Are you the little mouse?"

"I surely was," said the princess, laughing, "but no longer. A witch enchanted me, and the spell could be broken only by one brother who wanted to marry me and another who wanted to kill me. But, sweetheart, I need a change of clothes. I can't be wet at our wedding!"

And a grand wedding it was, with Mikko's bride the wonder of all. The farmer could hardly stop looking at her. Of course, Mikko's brother was a bit jealous, but his own bride was really quite nice, so he couldn't feel too bad.

The next day, the princess brought Mikko back to her cottage—but it was a cottage no longer! It was a castle with hundreds of servants, and there they made their home happily.

And if Mikko and the princess had any sons, you know just how they chose their brides.

The five nordics looked to everyone else, exasperated. Eventually, Denmark spoke up. "So which is it? Who has the best stories?"

**(A.N. You heard the man! Vote on the best story in a review or PM and I'll post the results next chapter.)**


	29. Scotland

**(A.N. I'm going to be telling more ghost stories than legends for a while. Anyway, here's Scotland for ****cutekittenlady. The last chapter was freakishly long, so don't set that as your standard from now on! :) Anyway, here's the stories of D. Lilias Drummond and Earl Beardy (his real name) in Fyvie and Glamis Castles. Most of the chapter will be in Scotland's point of view, I just don't really want to put in the quote marks)**

That's nothing! They're good legends, yes, but we're here to tell ghost stories, dammit! Here's a _real_ ghost story!

Fyvie Castle has been the home of five different Scottish clans. The Preston, Meldrum, Seton, Gordon, and Leith families each added their own unique touches to the castle by erecting new towers, windows, and staircases. The interior features a great wheel stair, a collection of famous portraits and a display of authentic weapons and armament-

"Stop advertising your landmarks and get on with the story, you bleeding git!"

Yeah, yeah little brother... Anyway, when Lady Meldrum of Fyvie died in the 13th century, she requested for her body to be sealed in the wall of a secret room within Meldrum Tower, putting a curse of disaster on anyone who entered the room. During renovations in 1920, workmen reportedly discovered her remains. The ghost of Lady Meldrum, or The Gray Lady, has been seen since. From that day on, the castle has been plagued by strange noises and unexplained happenings.

The happenings could, of course, be credited to the "Green Lady" of Fyvie, D. Lilias Drummond. She is thought to be the wife of Sir Alexander Seton who starved her to death so he could marry her cousin, which he did. On the night of Sir Seton and his new bride's honeymoon, Lilias's ghost started moaning outside their window, and not in the sexy way. It freaked out the bride, but when Alexander went to see what was making the noise, nothing or no-one was there. After getting up twice to see what was the matter, Alexander simply rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. When the couple got up in the morning, the words 'D. Lilias Drummond' had been carved into the stone windowsill three inches high and from the outside. Her name can still be seen today, as if it had been carved yesterday.

Fyvie isn't the only haunted castle, though. There is a feeling of overwhelming sadness when one enters the chapel in Glamis Castle and the sounds of hollowing knocking is sometimes heard. The sadness intensifies around the Grey Lady. She can been seen kneeling in front of the altar praying. She is one of Scottish history's most tragic victims. Over 400 years ago the 6th Lord of Glamis married Janet Douglas. They had one son John. They lived a peaceful and happy life at Glamis until the of death her husband Lord Glamis, in 1528. Lady Janet was born into the Douglas Clan. Her brother was the stepfather of King James V. King James hated his stepfather, obsessed by a deep hatred for anyone who bore the Douglas name, King James would carry out a ruthless vendetta against them. Lady Janet became the center of King James' hatred. Lady Janet no longer had the protection of her marriage to Lord Glamis. King James confiscated Glamis Castle for the crown by accusing Lady Janet of witchcraft and of making deadly potions with which to kill him. No one ever doubted that these accusations were not true, but Lady Janet and her son were imprisoned in the dark dungeons of Edinburgh Castle. Occupying Glamis, King James held court there from 1537 to 1542. Still in existence are many charters and royal decrees from the castle dated from this period. Throwing Lady Janet into prison was easy for King James, but convicting her of his trumped up charge of witchcraft would be difficult. Her character was impeccable, without blemish, and she was very much respected by everyone who knew her. In order to get the testimony he needed to convict her, the King resorted to torture. Her clansmen and servants were put on the rack and stretched to the point of agony. They finally gave false evidence against her. John, her son, who was 16 at the time was forced to watch in horror, before being brutally tortured himself. Using these savage tactics the King got his confessions. Lady Janet was convicted of witchcraft, and she and her son were condemned to death. On July 17, 1537, almost blind from her long imprisonment in the dungeon, Lady Janet Glamis was burned alive at Edinburgh Castle. On lookers fell silent. Lady Janet was a beautiful young woman. An eyewitness of the execution described her suffering with great commiseration. Being in the prime of her years, of singular beauty, she endured her suffering, and although being a woman, with a man like courage. Her innocence was never doubted. It is believed that she was not executed for witchcraft, but for the hatred James V had for her brother. Her son John, the 7th Lord of Glamis was released after King James V died. Parliament restored Glamis back to him. Sadly upon his return to the castle he found that everything of value had been taken by James V. Before his death, it is said King James V had felt remorse for his actions. After Lady Janet's execution the Grey Lady began appearing at the castle. The hollow knocking sound heard is thought to be the hammering of the workmen building the scaffold on which Lady Janet was burned alive. Lady Janet's spirit wanders the castle and can not only be seen in the chapel but above the clock tower as well.

Later, in the 15th century the second Lord of Glamis (known as Earl Beardie for his long, red beard) was an avid card player. Earl Beardie and the Earl of Crawford were playing cards late on a Saturday night. A servant came to remind Earl Beardie that it was nearing midnight, urging them to stop playing. It was sacrilege to gamble on the Sabbath. Lord Glamis ordered the servant out. Five minutes later, the servant came back, once again warning the gambling pair of the time. Lord Glamis shouted for all to hear they would play until Doomsday if they wanted and ordered the servant out of the room. The game continued and at five minutes to midnight the servant again warned his Lord of the time. Earl Beardie said he would play with the Devil himself and ordered the servant out. At the stroke of midnight there was a knock on the door and a tall stranger dressed in black entered asking to join the game. The stranger sat down and placed a handful of rubies on the table. Earl Beardie and Earl Crawford did not object to his company, and there were no inquiries about his identity. Soon after, an argument was heard to erupt between the two Earls. When the servant peered into the room to see what was wrong, he saw the two men engulfed in flames. It is said that Earl Beardie had played cards with the Devil and for gambling on the Sabbath he was condemned to play until Doomsday. His ghost still roams the halls trapped for eternity doomed to return to the room to play cards with the Devil. Sounds of stamping, swearing and dice rattling are heard from the tower where Earl Beardie is said to have cursed God and played with the Devil. Guests staying in the Blue Room have been awakened by a hand brushing against their cheeks. The guests wake up to see the ghostly face of a man with a long beard hovering over them. Is this the restless spirit of Earl Beardie? Only those who have experienced him know the truth.

** (A.N. I love ghost stories from the UK... there's so many castles, it'd be a shame if they **_**weren't**_** haunted. Anyway, that's Scotland and next up is Ukraine with Latvia after. I'm not sure if I'll find any ghost stories for Latvia, but if I can't I'll just put up a spooky legend for the Baltic area.)**


	30. The Ostrich Inn

**(A.N. OK, I just realized that it's October and I haven't uploaded a single ghost story on here! D: I'll get back to the requested countries next update, but here's a ghost story from England again: this time about an inn that was the site of around 60 murders.)**

Standard Disclaimers Apply

The murders at The Ostrich Inn are believed to have possibly been the inspiration behind the fictional story of _"Sweeney Todd - The Demon Barber of Fleet Street"_ - originally a 19th century serialized "penny dreadful" horror tale about a murderous barber (the eponymous "Sweeney Todd"), who slits the throats of his customers in order to rob them. He disposes of the bodies by pulling a lever on his barber's chair which releases a trapdoor which opens into a pit. Once in the pit, the corpses are made into meat pies by an accomplice to provide an additional means of income! Quite terrifying, but seemingly based on fact if legend is to be believed!

The murders which may have inspired the creation of Sweeney Todd were committed at The Ostrich by a seventeenth century landlord of the Inn, a man known simply as "Jarman".

Like the highwaymen, the enterprising Mr. Jarman saw a means of supplementing his income by relieving rich travelers of their money, clothing and goods. He didn't want to take the same risks of face to face robbery that the highwaymen did, so he devised a cunning plan. In one of the Inn's best bedrooms (referred to in some accounts as "The Blue Room"), he built a trapdoor directly under the bed. Once he was sure that his intended victim was fast asleep (and one can imagine him plying the hapless individual with enough alcohol to ensure that he was out for the count), the evil publican would sneak into the room and release the lever that held the trap door shut. The bed frame was fastened securely to the trapdoor, so the poor customer would suddenly be rudely awakened by being tipped downwards into a vat of boiling water (some versions substitute water for boiling oil or fat) situated in the room directly below.

Once the boiling water had done it's work, Jarman would then strip the body of all valuables and dispose of it by throwing it into the River Colne. By selling the victim's horse to local gypsies there would be no remaining trace of the traveler and if any enquiries were made, he would deny all knowledge of the missing traveler ever having visited his Inn.

Nemesis caught up with the wicked Mr. Jarman when he killed a well-known merchant named Thomas Cole. After killing Cole, he disposed of the body as normal, but for some reason Cole's horse escaped and was found wandering nearby. The animal was recognized as belonging to the missing Thomas Cole. To make things worse for Jarman, Cole had been seen entering The Ostrich and the authorities were informed.

A search of the premises was made and Jarman's ghastly machinery of death was discovered, as were the remains of the unfortunate Mr Cole floating in the Colne. Some versions of the tale state that Colnbrook gained it's name because of the murder of Thomas Cole, i.e. "Cole-in-the-brook", but as I've already mentioned, the name Colnbrook pre-dates the demise of Mr. Cole by several hundred years, so whilst it would be a wonderful tribute to his memory, unfortunately this isn't the case.

Jarman and his wife (who had been an active participant in the murders) met their ends on the gallows and the ghost of poor Thomas Cole is believed to haunt the upper story of The Ostrich. According to Ghost Story . co . uk, "A woman in Victorian dress has been seen, and other shadowy figures have been seen in the upstairs corridors. Noises have been heard and staff have opened locked rooms to find lights and electrical equipment switched on. There have been reports of feelings of despair and cold spots in the downstairs ladies toilet. This used to be the pantry, and the spot where Jarman would have stored the bodies of the victims he murdered."

The Ostrich Inn in Colnbrook, Berkshire has been featured on Great British Ghosts, Most Haunted, and has been the subject of many paranormal investigations.

**(A.N. Sorry I haven't updated in forever, my schoolwork has been insane and I had some plot bunnies that needed to be let out of my head for a while. I'll update this (like all of my fics, I've decided) at least once a week, but they won't be every Monday or every Wednesday. One week I might update on a Monday and the next update wouldn't come until the next Friday. I'll update as often as I can, though!)**


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